Cyran awkwardly readjusted the jacket he was currently wearing, trying not to seem as nervous as he felt on the inside. He double checked to make sure the eyepatch was over his eye- he normally took care to wear it while he was out in public, but that was especially true tonight, when he needed to look as presentable as possible. That meant covering up the uglier parts that most people in polite society wouldn’t be too comfortable seeing.

Tonight was an important job- not one as the Specter, but as Cyran himself, but representative of the Ash Lands, and… Zarius’s arm candy for the evening.

Cyran was not one for politics, and much preferred to keep to himself when it came to the affairs of others, but when one lived with a member of Darkveil’s criminal underground, such affairs were difficult to avoid. Cyran thought he was done with parties and events when he left Eclipse City for good, but it seemed that he would once again be playing this game on an entirely different side of the world with a different set of players.

In this case, though, Cyran at least felt reassured that he had no real stake in what they were here for. He was more like a blade, much like the enchanted, invisible dagger currently hidden in his boot that he carried on him just in case the need arose. He was here to help Zarius with the mission, to bolster the strength of the Zeinav Initiative, and step in and help if the need arose.

He doubted his presence would actually be necessary, though, as Zarius was plenty charismatic in his own right. The following of thieves and assassins he’d amassed in the Rookery was growing by the day. But even as smooth as Zarius was at talking, even he could not always pick out lies the way Cyran could. And so Cyran would stick close, on guard just in case he needed to step in.

The event they had traveled all the way to Zeinav City for was, much to Cyran’s surprise, at a casino. When he questioned why a meeting between politicians and wealthy investors was taking place in such a place, Zarius had explained to him that this event was a charity ball, where Zeinav’s moneymakers had a chance to invest their coin in worthy initiatives to improve the country’s infrastructure while having a little fun.

Their goal, he’d gone on to explain during their debriefing on the way here, was to talk up as many nobles as they could to divert as much funding to Darkveil city as they could.

That was simple enough, though Cyran still grimaced at the thought of spending the night conversing with noblemen. He readjusted his jacket and the cloak over it once more- he’d brought along the black cloak Iryla gifted him this past Winter’s Crown for good luck- before smoothing his face over into a more pleasantly neutral expression. He just had to remember he was representing Zarius on this mission, and he would do so to the best of his ability, as he always did.

The casino was already a flurry of activity by the time the two arrived, the floor filled with all kinds of tables running any game one could think of, filled with men and women in what Cyran assumed was Zeinav royal fashion. Gold glinted under the light from oil lamps, accompanied by the sound of laughter, dice, and clinking glasses. Cyran thought he could spot a few figures in the crowd that looked important all engaged in conversation- including a woman giving orders to a couple of staff members that could have been the casino’s owner.

Cyran turned to Zarius with a respectful nod. “I follow your lead.” Wherever Zarius thought they should go first, Cyran would trust his judgment.

Getting into this event hadn't been particularly straightforward. The invitations to the charity ball were meant for the major movers and shakers of Zeinav City, and oddly enough one invitation from the esteemed Madam Mohurk herself had somehow found its way into the hands of Zarius' mother who had long since left her life amongst Zeinav's nobility behind.

The reason Zarius' mother, Zewala Rha'Esandi, left Zeinav City in favor of the ash covered skies of Darkveil City stems from multiple years of increasing family drama that ultimately ended up driving her away. Despite parting on bad terms with her family and being slandered even by those she had once considered kindred spirits amongst the other noble families of Zeinav, she had managed to salvage a few connections. Madam Mohurk was one of those precious friendships.

From the initial letter written on find vellum, embossed with gold filigree and scrawled across in a looping cursive, it was evident that the Madam was reaching out to Zewala to reconnect as both a friend and someone who sympathizes with the struggles of being a woman of wealth and power always under the scrutinizing gaze of the public and high society as a whole. The Madam laments the unfortunate circumstances that contributed to Zewala's departure and continued avoidance of returning to the city they both loved. Despite the formality of the presentation of the letter, there was a genuine undertone to the language the Madam so carefully crafted on this page with mere quill and ink.

Zewala was torn. Her heart went out to the Madam and she was touched by the effort to rekindle the friendship they once shared. Returning to Zeinav City though, it just wasn't something she was comfortable with. The thought of possibly seeing members of high society who had gone behind her back and spread terrible rumors of her in the aftermath or her falling out with her family was too much for her. She had been hurt deeply by many of these people who knew not the sharpness of their words. While she wished to accept the invitation, she could not bare to attend the event herself.

Rather than reject the invitation outright, Zarius' mother had given the letter to him in hopes that he could potentially make some better use of. With her permission, Zarius responded to the invitation on her behalf and-- using her handwriting-- managed to get the invitation extended to himself and Cyran who had started to gain some notoriety across Charon as well after some back and forth with the Madam.

"You clean up well," Zarius comments while they are getting ready. He gives Cyran's noble presentation a once over as he fixes the cuff of his own dress coat. 

The tiefling is dressed in an outfit that he favors for these sorts of occasions. A beautiful onyx black dress coat embroidered with gold patterns across the shoulders, back, bottom hem, and cuffs suits Zarius well and fits his physique perfectly. It looks to be made out of very expensive material and has a slight silken sheen to it. Beneath the coat, the tiefling wears some light grey dress pants, a white button up silken shirt, and a black and silver patterned vest. A pair of knee high black leather boots embroidered with gold and the same golden jewelry he wore when Cyran first met round out the whole outfit.

Curiously enough, Cyran seemed to know his way around upper-class society, an interesting little insight that he acquired from speaking with Iryla after the first mission he sent her on with the elven hunter. While he had done a little digging into Cyran's past-- as he does with all his associates-- he hadn't actually found anything particularly concrete. He at least had learned that Cyran was a few hundred years in age and had some history in Moonglade, but that was about the extent of what he had managed to pick up in his travels.

He didn't want to pry too deeply into the man's past without his consent. That was a good way to ruin what amicable partnership they had forged between them thus far. Cyran was an incredibly valuable asset and trusted ally. He would even go as far as to call Cyran one of his good friends. Though he'd never tell him that.

Regardless, Cyran could be trusted to keep a level head even around sharp tongued and stuck up nobles. He had handled the Dark Lord's intrusion in the Rookery with hospitality rivaling some of the best taverns in Charon. The mature elf also had plenty of life experience and patience. All important in navigating the choppy waters of a politically charged or heated discussion amongst those quick to insult and quicker to criticism.

Before they head to the event venue, Zarius does give him some forewarning on what to expect.

"Zeinavian social gatherings can sometimes get a little wild, even something as high profile as this. Be wary of any drink or smoke you are offered. It can be easy to get swept up in the energy of an event like this."

Zarius was sure Cyran didn't really need to be told this. They had met at the Marrowvine's Black Harvest Ball after all and the hunter seemed to stay out of any drama despite the many strange occurrences of that evening. This event wouldn't likely be nearly as chaotic since there should be fewer odd invitees in attendance. That said, Zeinavians could get a lot rowdier than the nobility of Capitol Landing and those who were not well versed in the social norms of the region could easily find themselves over indulging in the drink, smoke, and pleasant company. 

The tiefling had no doubts that Cyran would keep his head though, and was glad the older elf agreed to attending with him. They hadn't gotten to do a mission like this together before, and it would be good to have a mission with no chance of being kidnapped by dragonkin or destroying the archeological find of a lifetime.

Stepping into the Dusty Refuge, the ball was already underway with various gatherings of smaller groups around the different tables socializing, drinking, and of course, gambling. It was still early, so most folks still had their wits about them and the atmosphere is pretty light despite how uptight the attendees can be.

This was all a testament to the Madam, owner of the Dusty Refuge-- as well as almost every other business specializing in hospitality within Zeinav City. The woman had a way of making those around her drop their guard, a dangerous skill to have but one she wielded with ease and tact which earned her indisputable respect from her clients and business partners. If it suited her, she could likely get away with robbing someone blind yet still have them leave her establishment happy and thanking her for the excellent service. 

The Dusty Refuge itself is her pride and joy. Though its exterior is unassuming, the interior is nothing if not extravagant. Fragrant scents of warm spices, smoke, and something herbal hang in the air between the draping pieces of colorful textiles that hang suspended over their heads. Each table is low to the ground and surrounded by plush cushions that the noble folk sit on as they gamble away their riches. There's not a care in the world for most of them as they are too involved in their fun and games as well as the pipes, drinks, and finger foods are passed between them. There is laughter and conversation throughout the space as waitstaff weave between the groups tending to the needs of men and women dressed in elaborate outfits of rich colors and extravagant jewelry. Some of the women wear sheer veils while there are a few men with wrapped head dressings decorated with colorful plumage and beads. 

Zarius takes in the space and makes mental notes of which tables are getting into the drink more than others, which ones have open cushions, and which individuals are engaged in more intense conversations. Getting a feel for the room was important, however the tiefling's first priority is to greet and introduce himself and Cyran to Madam Mohurk herself. She was the main reason they were there after all. 

He leans over to Cyran as they start to head over to the woman and the group she is surrounded by, whispering quietly to the elf. 

"Be mindful of your coin, while it is not likely you will be pickpocketed here, there are plenty of other ways to lose all your Solars," the tiefling says in a teasing tone.

Cyran's luck-- or lack there of-- with keeping a hold of his coin purse amused Zarius to no ends. For such a formidable hunter, capable of hunting down and taking out any target unfortunate enough to be marked by this expert in the kill, Cyran suffered from petty crime more often than one would expect.

As they approach, Zarius puts on a friendly smile, one Cyran was all too used to seeing.

A charcoal skinned tiefling and a tall elf stood out a fair amount amongst this crowd, and it didn't take long for the Madam to clock them as they closed in on her. She finishes giving instructions over her shoulder to one of the wait staff and then excuses herself from the group, lightly touching the shoulder of a human man as she steps away and stands before the two new arrivals with a smile. 

The human woman is dressed to the nines in a gorgeous beaded dress that cascades like a glimmering waterfall of rubies. A sheer silken shawl is draped across her shoulders and falls in graceful folds all the way to the floor. Her skin is sun kissed and richly tanned while her expresso brown hair is pulled back into a spiraling braid that pinned up on the back of her head. A few stray curls frame her soft jawline and fine facial features.

"Zarius Rha'Oriyn and Master Cyran I presume. Welcome to the Dusty Refuge." Her lips form a gentle smile on her face as she gives a shallow bow. 

Zarius returns her greeting with his own, bowing slightly. "Thank you Madam Mohurk, it is truly an honor and a pleasure."

"Do not speak so soon when neither of you have a drink in your hand. Please, help yourselves and feel free to let me know if there is anything I can do to make the evening a truly memorable one."

---

[1] Liar's Quill

Cyran doubted he cleaned up as nice as Zarius claimed, but he’d tried his best not to embarrass Zarius. In the end he’d gone with clothes more traditional of Moonglade fashions, with his hair braided down the side and dark silver feather clasps lining a long jacket. Elven styles tended towards long and elegant looks, designed as if to make themselves appear taller and more elegant. Even the ash rose floral eyepatch over his eye matched the dark ensemble, but he still felt woefully out of place as he followed behind Zarius in the foyer of the Dusty Refuge.

Zarius offered him a bit of advice as they made their way inside proper, which only served to make Cyran even more nervous. He could handle chaos, and had done so at previous parties before. The Black Harvest Ball where Cyran and Zarius met came to mind. He still hoped he could keep a cool head amidst the chaos, should any arise. The evening was young now, but drinks were being passed out with wild abandon, and Cyran had no illusions the celebration would only continue to grow.

He was glad Zarius trusted him for this mission- he would simply have to make sure that faith was not misplaced.

His worries were interrupted as Zarius reminded him to keep hold his coin purse lest any wandering hands or desperate gamblers might try to snatch it. He managed a small smile, barely a twist of his lips at the joke. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, but I make no promises.” Zarius and the others liked to tease him about his strange row of bad luck with losing his coin purse, but truth be told, he’d found his pocket picked once more upon his most recent arrival to Darkveil before they’d set off for this venture and didn’t have much on his person in the first place.

He found he didn’t mind. It made travel easier, and made him less of a target.

The pair set off in search of the hostess of this party- a woman that Zarius had briefed him on during the journey here, and one he seemed to hold in high regard. Even if Zarius had not pointed her out, Cyran might have been able to recognize her based on looks alone. No, not just looks, but the authority that seemed to radiate from her as she walked through the ground floor of the casino, addressing patrons and staff with a dazzling smile, exactly the kind of attitude Cyran would expect from a woman who’d built up the casino and hotel business in Zeinav.

Madam Mohurk spotted them, dropping what she was currently working on to greet them, in proper fashion. Cyran dipped low into a bow alongside Zarius in greeting.

“Your invitation is much appreciated.” He murmured in response as she bid them welcome. She wore a kind smile on her face, one that you couldn’t help but look at and feel at home. Even her appearance was disarming, a dazzling dress adorned with opulent beads and jewels that reminded Cyran of the shimmering lights hanging from the ceiling.

There was a teasing lilt to her voice as she bid them relax and enjoy themselves, but one that didn’t leave room for argument. Cyran felt somewhat awkward as he gave her a stiff nod, straightening his back to a more presentable posture. “Your establishment is lovely. I’m sure we will make ourselves at home.” He complimented.

It was true- despite the crowd, the atmosphere was purposefully crafted for entertainment, designed to draw in others and deprive them of their money. Tonight, it catered towards nobles, but the sentiment was the same.

Madam Mohurk, apparently not satisfied with that placating answer, waved over a server carrying a tray of drinks in crystalline champagne flutes, waiting for both Cyran and Zarius to take. Not wanting to be impolite, Cyran plucked a glass from the tray. He didn’t take a sip yet, but the action seemed to placate madam Mohurk all the same. “There’s no need to be so formal. I prefer it when all of my guests are relaxed and enjoying their stay. Please, feel free to take advantage of any games our tables have to offer. Tonight, it all goes towards a good cause.”

“What kind of charities have you selected for tonight’s festivities?” Cyran asked, idly twirling the still-full glass in his hands. He wasn’t a gambler himself, but part of tonight’s plan was to help bolster funding in Darkveil wherever they could, and the invitation itself had been rather vague on what Madam Mohurk intended to raise money for.

“Oh, it depends, really. We allow players to choose what they’d prefer to invest in. For instance,” She gestured towards a fine-dressed man with gold jewelry that looked like it weighed down his ears, “Master Zarkeiv there has decided to pledge his money to devote his money to the military and bolster defense. And the lady next to him has decided to improve city infrastructure and planning. And, of course, I would not be mad if one donated their winnings to the hotel business.” She added with a laugh.

She turned to Zarius with a smile that seemed just the smallest bit kinder than the ones reserved for other patrons. “And what of the two of you? What shall I pen down for your cause of choice, should you fancy a game?”

Zarius takes the glass as if it was natural for him to have one in his hand despite Cyran having rarely seen the man ever accept a drink not handed to him by Eirynor. Zarius was not a drinker out of fear of being poisoned, though in the Rookery he had been seen with the occasional drink he would sip on or at least glasses of water.

It was almost comical how two residents of the bar, the tiefling owner and the assassin Caedes, had weird habits when it came to drinking. While Zarius had an aversion, Caedes seemed to have no self control, constantly accepting drinks handed to him and then discretely throwing the contents away in any nearby plant. For the first few weeks that the Rookery was open, it had been a mystery as to why all of the potted plants Eameia brought in for décor kept dying off. Eventually, they did figure it out and Eameia was quick to stop replacing the plants rather than reprimand the pale man. 

Still, even here in this situation Cyran would not see Zarius actually take a drink from the glass now held in his hand. It was very likely that one of the nearby potted palms would be the only thing poisoned this evening. 

"Ah, well, that is why I have Master Cyran accompanying me this evening," he gestures to Cyran and the Madam's attention turns back to the elven man. 

She almost eyes him up and down, as if sizing him up and committing every detail of his face, physique and attire to memory. 

Zarius continues. "Madam, Master Cyran here is a charitable man who is quick to see an issue and act to fix it to the best of his ability. He has gone out of his way to provide a safe home, food, and clothes for the many orphans of Darkveil all out of the good of his heart." He pauses and gives Cyran a teasing grin. "As sappy as that sounds, he is genuinely passionate about helping those unfortunate children."

Madam Mohurk chuckles a bit. "Honest souls with good intentions are hard to come by." She glances about the room, keeping a watchful eye for any trouble or guests who need her attention. "That sounds like a wonderful cause though you may find it hard to convince others to contribute their coin to such a thing. Playing to the heartstrings of this clientele is...challenging."

"We understand, I hope that by putting my own money where my mouth is we can perhaps persuade a few to make some generous contributions. I can assure you it is a worthwhile cause to invest in, children are the inheritors of the future after all."

That makes her smile more. "So true. It seems you have inherited quite a bit from from dear Zewala, tell me, how is she?"

Zarius returns her smile with one of his own. "She is well. Busy supporting the family business and ensuring we do not look like fools stumbling about like blind chickens."

This time Zarius is the one to get the discerning eye of the Madam. She takes note of everything, even his posture. Once she is done giving him a once over, she nods approvingly. "I would say she has done well on that front, you look quite confident."

"I appreciate the compliment. I will certainly give her your regards."

The Madam's smile becomes a bit thinner and forced. "It is regrettable she could not attend tonight. But I understand it was a big ask of her considering the painful memories I am sure this city holds for her." There's a solemn tone to her voice as she speaks. 

Zarius takes note of the change in her demeanor. "I can assure you she wanted nothing more than to see you again. Things are complicated, but perhaps we can arrange a less public meeting."

"I am afraid that will be quite challenging. I am far too busy and this city can hardly run without me for even a minute." She laughs, restoring a lighter tone to the conversation. "I am just happy to know that she has found what she was looking for and has a loving family supporting her."

"She will be happy to hear you are also doing well. Your success in the city speaks for itself." He gestures out towards the wealthy crowd. 

"Mmm, my success comes with its own problems I am afraid. So is the way of these things I suppose."

The Madam's words pique the tiefling's interest. He was never one to ignore an opportunity to strengthen the bond with a portential ally, especially one with as much influence as the woman who owned some of the city's most lucrative businesses. "Anything we can help with?"

"No, no, I appreciate the concern but that kind of talk is not what this night is about." She waves a hand dismissively. 

He decides not to push the matter, but he does give Cyran a glance. 

The tiefling wasn't the only one looking the elf's way though. Madam Muhork gives Cyran another perfectly practiced warm and welcoming smile. "Tell me more about your orphanage and how you came about to found such an establishment in Darkveil of all places. That city is hardly known for its charities."

At first, Cyran was flattered with Zarius’s estimation of his character and description of his orphanage, until he realized that Zarius was laying all of this on rather thick in an attempt to sell Cyran’s orphanage as a worthy charity. The sentiment was nice, but… it wasn’t difficult to piece together that Cyran’s orphanage was how Zarius was planning on rerouting money to Darkveil. The thought made complicated feelings twist in Cyran’s gut, the desire to a good job conflicting with his distaste for involving his personal life with work. But then Zarius was flashing him a teasing smile, and it was only polite for him to laugh along with the good-natured ribbing before the conversation drifted off to other topics, and Cyran was free to be an observer once more.

Much like Zarius, he did not sip at his own drink as he held it- not out of paranoia for being poisoned, but because he didn’t care for muddying his thoughts with liquor while he was meant to be sharp. Zarius was the face, and he was meant to be the eyes and ears. Idly, as the two spoke about Madam Mohurk’s connection with Zarius’s mother- an interesting tidbit of information Cyran hadn’t known, but the genuine warmth in her voice as she spoke about Madam Zewala was nice- his attentions drifted elsewhere, watching the crowd to ensure that everything was going smoothly. A few men and women at nearby tables were listening in, though they were careful to conceal that fact.

He perked up in interest as the conversation drifted towards certain… problems that had been plaguing her. Zarius managed a sideways glance at Cyran, but the assassin was already listening intently, dragging his finger around the rim of his glass in idle, slow circles as he listened for any kind of lie in her voice. There was an odd tension in her words, right at the moment she insisted that these troubles were not matters that Zarius could help with.

Cyran’s mouth tightened, pausing his movements. The lie was subtle, but an obvious one- she did want their assistance in some capacity. But what could be troubling her? He imagined it could be any number of things, from scalpers to enemy businesses. But as she brushed that topic of conversation away, Cyran could read nothing more in her tone.

He blinked as she turned the conversation to Shade’s Valley Orphanage once more. He couldn’t blame her- as she was quick to point out, charities weren’t common in the city. He hummed, taking a moment to consider his words carefully.

“It’s true that such a nonprofit organization might seem an odd decision, or a sentimental one.” He admitted. “While I call Darkveil my home now, I am not originally from there.” He tilted his head to the side. How much should he reveal without being considered dangerous? Zeinav was far away from Moonglade- there was little risk of anyone having any inkling of his reputation here. “Eclipse City was a very different place than Darkveil, so when I moved here, I was surprised to see that there was little infrastructure in place to take care of the children in the city. Being a father myself, I…”

He paused, glancing down at the glass in his hands. “I was inspired to build a place where they could feel safe. It may be naive to believe that just one place could change things, but I still think it’s important to try. Really, though…” Now it was his turn to praise Zarius.

“Its opening wouldn’t have been possible without Master Zarius himself.” Cyran said honestly. “While I had an idea, and the funds, I’ve no mind for business. Master Zarius here is a good friend of mine- not only has he given me a place to stay, it is thanks to his skills and assistance that I was able to make this small dream of mine a reality.”

The Madam pays close attention as Cyran explains his situation with the orphanage, all the while keeping the polite smile on her face. The revelation that Cyran is not of Darkveil does not surprise her one bit. She was pretty familiar with the nobility across the Zeinav Initiative and Cyran held himself with more of a quiet dignified composure rather than the more raw strength of personality that Zeinavians were so famous for. 

Her face softens at the mention of Cyran's daughter. Her expression one of empathy and understanding. She reaches out and gently puts a hand on his arm. "It takes a lot of strength to do what you do. It is admirable and your passion is very clear by how you speak." She pulls her hand back away and gives him a reassuring smile. "I am certain if you speak with such genuine care amongst others here you can surely garner some support."

Zarius respectfully listens to the conversation, picking up on the careful manner in which Cyran is speaking. He was quite practiced at this whole socializing thing. It made him wonder about the man's history in Moonglade and what drove him to become a hunter and if his familiarity with proper noble decorum came before or after that choice to pursue that morally grey profession. He didn't want to pry, and he wouldn't, especially here. 

He looks about the room, keeping a close eye on the games and conversations that are happening between the other guests at the event. His attention is brought back rather quickly as Cyran starts to speak of how the tiefling has helped on the back end of the nonprofit.

Really Cyran should be giving the credit to Eameia. She was the bookkeeper for the Rookery, Zarius' family's criminal activity, and the orphanage. Zarius was good out in the field, and he had his strengths in manipulation, but he didn't have the time to actually sit down and run a business on his own. Eameia on the other hand was bored out of her mind half the time and was always looking for something intellectually stimulating to do. Finances had to take the place of trying to get into the Mage's Guild for the time being.

Zarius looks at the Madam as she gives him another warm smile. "Wonderful to hear that your family is doing well enough to aid in such charitable ventures. Zewala always was about supporting the local communities."

The tiefling nods. "The difference is already noticeable."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Fewer desperate hungry mouths to be swept up into the violence, I presume."

"There certainly are those who would take advantage of vulnerable children. The city is quite dangerous and changes take time."

The Madam's expression gets a little more serious for a moment, though her smile never falters. "Changes take ambition."

Zarius pauses, seeming to think over the meaning behind her words for a moment before he nods slowly. "Indeed."

She takes a breath and scans the room. "Well, I should not keep you two handsome men from socializing with others. Be careful not to be too charming otherwise you will have a hard time leaving without someone hanging off your arms," the woman teases with a light laugh. "If you need me, I am not too hard to find. Please do enjoy the event and do find me before you leave for the evening."

"Of course, thank you." Zarius steps away with Cyran while the Madam goes about introducing herself to some others who have arrived at the party after the pair. The tiefling walks past a potted palm tree and subtly discards the content into the pot before returning the glass to the tray of a passing waiter. "So," he looks at Cyran, "thoughts so far?"

Madam Mohurk rested a hand on his shoulder as she assured him in a gentle manner that the work he was doing was worthwhile. It pleased Cyran to hear, though external validation from other nobles wasn’t why he had opened the orphanage in the first place. Tonight, it would be enough to garner some sympathy and perhaps even some money from politicians, but Cyran hadn’t opened the orphanage for anyone but himself, and the kids who needed a safe place to stay.

“I appreciate your words of support. Its opening has been a… rather enlightening experience, but I am more than happy to learn and grow and adapt to the needs of Darkveil’s population.” There was no question that the people of Darkveil were ambitious, constantly growing and adapting- there were people affected by the power struggle, and far too many children that were left homeless in the constant influx of crime. As much as the city had been somewhat of a haven for Cyran, it was not without its own faults, and all he could do was offer what respite, safety, and care as he could.

Those were not thoughts for the present moment, though. Cyran was more curious about the current conversation topic, which had drifted to Zarius’s mother. Cyran had still yet to meet Zarius’s family, nor was he aware of Madam Mohurk’s connection to Lady Zewala. The fondness in her voice was genuine, and as Cyran listened, he could tell why she held the position of power that she did. It was difficult not to trust her, and Cyran could tell that her words were honest.

There was a strange weight to them, though, as she left Zarius with the parting- advice? Warning?- before returning to her normal, relaxed state and bidding them farewell. Cyran wasn’t sure what to make of it, but those words had not been meant for him, but the son of a friend, and with a meaning that Cyran was not privy to.

He burned with curiosity.

Cyran hid a smile behind his hand as Zarius tossed his drink into a potted plant with a smooth movement that most would have missed. He couldn’t blame Zarius for being afraid of being poisoned at an event like this, especially when they were some of the only Ash Lands representatives in attendance, but the movement reminded him of the kids at the orphanage who would subtly tuck their vegetables in their napkins when they didn’t want to eat them. It was easy to forget, when seeing his natural leadership and charisma in action, that Zarius was still young himself.

He was interrupted from his musings as Zarius turned for his assessment thus far. Cyran still kept a hold of his glass- he had still yet to drink from it, but rather than pouring it all out at once, his own glass would slowly find itself emptied throughout the night as if to give the appearance he was nursing it.

“She is a personable woman.” Cyran admitted honestly. “I can see why she is beloved by many in Zeinav… as well as your own mother.” That last part was spoken by an afterthought, and with only a little idle curiosity. “The biggest flag to me was the problems she mentioned…” But without further context, he would not know more. It was easy to get swept up in the polite talk and the fineries and the subtle politics, enough for Cyran to forget he was simply an outsider looking in. Events like these were where Zarius excelled over him.

“But if you wanted my opinion on that, I do not think it would be a bad idea to help her with whatever it is she’s facing… within reason.” She seemed a good ally to have, and already partial to Zarius.

It was a shame he’d decided against bringing Yeux along, though. It would have been nice to have an extra set of eyes on Madam Mohurk through the night. He would just have to split his attention, he supposed.

“Although, about the charity… we’re not actually intending to use the orphanage as a front, are we…?”

Zarius nods. Cyran had picked up on the same cues he had it seemed. “That troubles me as well. Hopefully we can garner enough good faith with her to earn a chance at providing assistance with whatever is going on." He glances back over at the Madam who is currently speaking with a well groomed half-elven man dressed in emerald greens with gold accents. From here, it looked like she didn't have a worry in the world, but clearly there was much on her mind which she expertly hid behind that personable smile. 

He looks back at Cryan. "Between the two of us I think there is little we cannot handle. Though if she asks us to go to some recently discovered ancient underground city I will have to decline." The tiefling's flashes Cyran a light-hearted teasing smile.

Cyran’s last question and the tone it is asked with doesn’t go unnoticed by the tiefling. He glances around and pulls Cyran to the side, breaking line of sight with many of the other guests in attendance so they can have a brief moment of privacy.

“No," the tiefling states firmly, looking Cyran in the eyes. "Your orphanage is your own business and I will not do anything to compromise it. Ever." He wanted to make it clear that Cyran had nothing wor worry about. 

Aside from Eameia helping with the paperwork and finances, Zarius has kept his family’s business and his own separate from the Shade’s Valley Orphanage. While the establishment certainly could serve the purpose of a front for their illicit deeds, that was not something Zarius was interested in pursuing without consent from the hunter. Knowing what he does about Cyran, he hasn’t even bothered to make any such proposal. The elven man obviously had a soft spot for kids and was genuinely just trying to help them. He assumed that trying to turn the orphanage into anything more than what it already was would be going against the man’s intentions and possibly create unneeded conflict between them.

"Rest assured I will not go behind your back like that. Your trust is immeasurably valuable to me and I would be a fool to gamble with it so recklessly," he says before he gives Cyran a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I apologize if I have ever given you any reason to suspect otherwise."

He hopes the reassurance will put Cyran at ease. While he hasn't always been the most honest or open person to the elf, he does not believe he has done anything to prove he is not worth trusting. The idea that Cyran may think that he was using him was not something he was happy to think about. Having the elf's trust is important, and while he does not expect Cyran's loyalty to be unwavering, he still thought he had done enough to earn some benefit of the doubt. He tries not to think too much of it since there is little he can do about it in this current situation.

He sighs and turns his attention back to the party. "Come on, we should see what kind of gossip we can pick up on."

As the evening progresses, things remain fairly calm and civil amongst the nobility. Zarius splits off from Cyran for a bit to socialize and partake in some of the gambling. He subtly cheats at a few games, purposely losing in order to keep his opponents in a good and celebratory mood that only leads to them consuming more alcohol and being less mindful of their words around the tiefling. There's some idle gossip about who is in a relationship with who, various different updates on how someone's business is doing, and the occasional mention of travel to other regions and the strange customs.

One particularly disgruntled individual speaks of some vandalism they had recently suffered at the hands of the Scorched Ones, a group that clearly has much ire amongst the current crowd. Other than that, everything proceeds casually, that is until there is a stir near the front of the room.

Zarius peers over the heads of a few other guests he was conversing with to the foyer where a number of armored and decorated guards had entered. Zarius' eyes narrow, recognizing them as none other than members of the Sultan's own royal army. What were they doing here?

A murmur ripples through the room and a number of patrons bow to their knees revealing that the guards were flanking another individual. Zarius' expression of suspicion changes to one of surprise as the Sultan himself appears through the curtains of fabric draped across the establishment's entrance.

From across the room, Madam Mohurk is quick to stride towards the man and his armed escorts, a bright smile on her face but urgency in her pace. Stopping her approach at a respectful distance, she picks up the hem of her dress and bows deeply before the Sultan.

Zarius moves carefully as to not draw any attention to himself, but makes his way back over to Cyran while doing his best to hide the bit of worry on his face.

“That should not be too difficult.” Cyran mused. “She already seems partial to you.” And Cyran himself by extension, he supposed, but not in the same way she seemed to like Zarius. There was something deeper in the way she spoke to the tiefling, more personal than the flattery she showered Cyran in for proprietary’s sake. It was only a matter of getting her to open up. He did manage a small laugh, though, when Zarius cracked a joke about the prospect of more underground city exploration.

“Are you sure about that? Our last expedition was rather pleasant, I’d say.” He fired back with a joke of his own, mostly to cover up his embarrassment at how poorly that particular mission had turned out. Zarius had insisted that it was fine, and the city was later excavated once more so that others could finish its investigation after Cyran and Zarius had cleared it out, which Cyran supposed could be considered a success. He still couldn’t forget the fact that he’d been the one to accidentally unleashed that wyvern, somehow, making him the reason that the city had been destroyed upon its excavation. Magic was a tricky subject, one that he did not claim to understand… nor did he want to. If Cyran were entirely honest, it scared him.

The conversation topic turned back to the orphanage, and Zarius’s assurances that he did not intend to use Cyran’s business to further his own goals. At his words, Cyran could not help the relief that crept into him, relieving some of the tension coiled in his shoulders.

It was not that he didn’t trust Zarius- far from it, in fact.

While Zarius was not always the most honest person, and knew how to charm the pants off of even the most shrewd of businessmen, Cyran liked to think he was good at telling bullshit from the truth, and he could tell Zarius was serious about not wanting to involve Cyran’s business with his own. Whether that was simply for Cyran’s own benefit, or because he genuinely didn’t want to muddle the orphanage in with his own illicit activities, Cyran wasn’t sure- but he trusted Zarius to keep his word. Truth be told, Cyran did not mind pledging his loyalty to someone like Zarius. It was difficult to find leaders like him, even if he sometimes withheld things or lied to get what he wanted.

He’d given Cyran and Iryla a home, and he’d proven so far to be a good leader. Cyran wanted to see where he would go. He’d lend his blades to Zarius whenever the younger man asked, until the moment Zarius proved he was no longer trustworthy.

But Cyran liked him. He doubted that there would come a time where he could no longer work under Zarius- or at the very least, he hoped not.

“You did nothing of the sort to make me think so.” Cyran assured him. “I just… I am protective of them, is all.” Irrationally so, at times. Cyran was normally the kind of person who approached things with an analytical mind, but when it came to protecting the kids he had been entrusted, Cyran could turn into a bit of a mother hen.

“Yes, gossip.” The look on Cyran’s face said he’d much rather be anywhere else than listening to the idle chatter of nobles, but that was what they were here for- so listen he would, and see if Cyran could pick up anything that might be useful to them. The two split up for now, with Zarius heading off towards the tables to socialize with some of the gamblers. Cyran himself decided against gambling- he didn’t have a good enough poker face for it, and he didn’t much feel like losing his meager coin yet again.

He decided to lounge with a couple of bored wives and husbands on the second-story balconies overlooking the main floor, filled with lounge chaises and tables full of food and drink. When it came to events like these, there was a group of people most tended to overlook, considering they were merely plus ones rather than the distinguished, invited guests- the spouses and children of the important figures. They were the ones that usually attended these events on the periphery, unnoticed but in an ideal position to hear everything.

Cyran mingled with them for a bit, picking up what bits of information he could, all while keeping a watchful eye on Zarius, on guard in case anything happened. A couple of them spoke of the Scorched Ones, the very same group Zarius had heard about. It seemed to be a hot topic tonight.

Eventually, he noticed the shift in attitude instantly when the new guests entered the room, a handful of guards surrounding another, well-dressed man that Cyran could barely make out from his current vantage point, but decked out in fineries and ceremonial clothing, it was a description Cyran recognized nonetheless.

What was the Sultan of Zeinav himself doing here?

Cyran stood immediately, leaving the overhang to make his way back to Zarius on the main floor. Based on the pinched expression on his face, one he covered up as best he could, Cyran guessed that he hadn’t expected this particular guest, either.

“What do we do?” He whispered. Was their objective to stay low, or would Zarius want to introduce himself to such an important figure? From here, Cyran couldn’t make out much based on their expression. Madam Mohurk looked delighted, but there was a pinch in her eyes that said the Sultan’s appearance was as much a surprise to her as anyone else, but it was an opportunity she would capitalize on. She started guiding the sultan down towards one of the tables, with the guards trailing protectively behind him.

Rarely did Cyran ever show fear or nerves so blatantly on his face. But right now, Zarius would see something like apprehension in Cyran’s expression. While he’d handled the nobles with relative smoothness all night, here was where he was beginning to freeze up.

Zarius pulls Cyran aside when he notices the elf's nerves getting to him. "Hey, take a breath. This is unexpected but it does not change anything. Just calm down."

He wouldn’t lie, he was thrown off by the Sultan of Zeinav’s surprise appearance at this event as well. The event was high profile, but it hardly seemed like something royalty would personally get involved with. Had he missed something about the guest list? Was there someone here the Sultan would have keen interest in meeting with publicly?

His mind was racing with what to do. They could just continue on as planned. Would the Sultan’s presence really change anything? Of course it would. This was the Sultan for crying out loud. Him being here meant they had to be very careful with what they said and who they talked to.

That would have to wait though. Madam Mohurk is already waving the two men over.

Dear gods, what was she doing?

Zarius exchanges an uncertain look at Cyran before heading towards the woman and the Sultan. “Yes, Madam?”

Madam Mohurk gestures to the Sultan, the friendly smile never leaving her face. “I would like to introduce you both to Sultan Adatian Jadda Ziev. Your highness, this is Zarius Rha’Oryin, a dignitary of the Ash Lands, and his associate, tradesmen Cyran.”

The man smiles politely at the pair. “Ah, our oh so friendly neighbors to the north. It’s not often that I get to meet some upstanding citizens from that region. Truly, this is an honor.”

The Sultan's initial comment on the Ash Lands comes with the faintest hint of sarcasm. Zarius doesn't draw any attention to it, however he does take silent note of it. "The honor is all ours, your highness."

If he was being honest, he wasn't quite sure what the Sultan's opinion on the Ash Lands and its...'government' was. He assumed it was a complicated matter with the Sultan's own forces heavily relying on the rare minerals mined from the volcanic land to craft their unique armor. But there was no denying that Darkveil in particular was a criminal paradise with little regard for the local or foreign bodies of authority beyond the powerful crime families. 

Suprisingly, the Sultan then turns his attention to Cyran, eyeying him up and down for a moment before there’s a glimmer of recognition in his eye. “I believe I have heard of you. Were you not one of the adventurers sent into my ancestor’s tomb to uncover its secrets?”

Zarius and Madam Mohurk share a slightly surprised look between them. While the discovery of the tomb and the call for adventurers had been made well known across Charon, it was still surprising that the charismatic leader recognized Cyran by name alone.

“I would like to thank you personally for your bravery. I understand it was a very dangerous expedition.” The Sultan gives Cyran a nod of respect.

This motion does not go unnoticed by the other patrons of the event who are watching this interaction with curiosity. Some of the nobles who had barely gave a passing glance at Cyran now were much more interested in just who this elf was and what kinds of powerful connections he had.

Zarius was speechless for once. He knew Cyran had accomplished much worth of praise, but to earn the respect of Sultan Adatian Jadda Ziev himself was something else entirely. He was impressed to say the least. 

“Right, yes, of course.” If Zarius wasn’t nervous, then Cyran shouldn’t be either. Zarius was far more equipped to handle the talking than Cyran was - he trusted Zarius would know what to do. This development had obviously surprised the younger man as well, but in that moment where Cyran only saw ruin and catastrophe, Zarius would better be able to navigate these waters. That was, assuming they would even need to speak to the Sultan in the first place. Most were giving him a wide berth, nodding and bowing respectfully where respect dictated. He and Zarius could simply avoid the tables he frequented for the rest of the night…

Or at least, they would have been able to, had Madam Mohurk not been waving them over with a smile on her face, very obviously beckoning them over to where she was very clearly speaking with Sultan Adatian.

What was she doing?

It would obviously look rude if they ignored her summons, so after glancing at Cyran, Zarius made his way over to where they were still conversing, leaving Cyran to follow, wishing nothing more than to be holding one of his daggers in his hand right now. He took a moment to smooth out his jacket before following, posture stiff even as Madam Mohurk introduced the two by their titles.

Despite the kind smile on his face, the Sultan didn’t seem especially impressed by them. If the surprise in his expression upon learning they were Darkveil ambassadors didn’t give away his true feelings, then the snide remark about the city’s inhabitants did. Cyran merely copied Zarius’s respectful demeanor, offering a wordless bow in lieu of saying anything, playing the part of a silent guest. He intended to keep playing that part… up until Sultan Adatian recognized his name, and Cyran had to school his expression before a notable grimace made its way onto his face.

And then he mentioned that damnable tomb.

Cyran straightened, feeling put on the spot as both Zarius and Madam Mohurk failed to hide their surprise. That… might have been partially his own fault. Cyran had remained rather tight-lipped about his venture into the desert after returning to the Ash Lands with an eyepatch over the right side of his face. He’d told the others it had been the result of another dangerous mission in an exploration of a tomb, to which Zarius had shot back with another teasing reply asking if Cyran had touched any exploding magical artifacts. Cyran may or may not have neglected to mention that it was a venture funded by Sultan Adatian himself in an attempt to recover the treasures that had been buried with his ancestor.

It hadn’t seemed important at the time.

Considering that apparently, it had been important enough that the Sultan recognized him by name and description alone, perhaps he should have.

“Yes, I was one of the three who excavated the tomb.” He muttered softly, painfully aware of the eyes on him - not just those of his own companion and hostess, but others who were curious to know how important a plain-looking, foreign elf could be to the Sultan himself. He had to… focus. This was meant to be an opportunity to bolster support for Darkveil, and he would not fail those that were counting on him by making an ass of himself.

Only, now the Sultan was nodding at him, such a monumental gesture for a small action, and the whispers around them grew.

“I… the honor is all mine.” Cyran said in an echo of Zarius’s previous words, too flustered for a moment to find the right thing to say. It had been a dangerous expedition - not only one that he was unaccustomed to handling, but one that had endangered the lives of the other two that had been with him. Truth be told, he wasn’t especially happy that Cirice and Gerhart had been shaken up by what happened. But mortal perils were in the fine print of the job they’d signed up for, and he couldn’t very well air such grievances with the Sultan, whom apparently held at least some modicum of respect for him, no matter how small.

Nothing he could do but grit his teeth and bear it.

“The danger was nothing we could not handle together. And it was a worthwhile pursuit to reclaim the knowledge and history buried under there. I am more than happy to do my part for the royal line of the Zeinav Initiative… and foster goodwill between us all.” With any luck, this would at least give Zarius an opening to speak with the Sultan as well, and prove that there were people of the Ash Lands that were not simply petty criminals and thieves as their reputation would suggest.

Those were bold words coming from an assassin and a criminal, but Cyran at least understood that image was everything, especially if they wanted to gain some standing here.

Adatian gives Cyran another discerning look. “Hm, tell me, wth your skills, why settle in Darkveil of all places? Surely you are aware of its,” he pauses and glances at Zarius before continuing, “reputation.”

The glance does not go unnoticed by the tiefling. He wasn't sure if the Sultan was aware of exactly who the tiefling had connections with. He would hope that the renown he had garnered from his work across Charon would result in more trust from political leaders, but it was clear that he still had a lot of work to do to earn respect from someone with Adatian's political pull.

“If I may, your highness. That is precisely why Master Cyran has chosen to work within Darkveil. There is a dire need for those who can hold their own on those dangerous streets but who also want to make those streets safer. Master Cyran has been working diligently on providing a safe home for the many children who are left behind on the streets for one reason or another.”

The Sultan narrows his eyes at the tiefling. Cyran would be able to tell that the man was wary of Zarius and skeptical of his words despite the tiefling’s efforts to tell the truth.

He turns his gaze back to Cyran. “That is admirable and I appreciate your support. As far as fostering goodwill, that may be quite difficult. There is little ‘good’ that survives in Darkveil. I presume someone of your reputation has at least met Count Mallock?”

“He is a difficult man to gain an audience with,” Zarius interrupts again which catches the Sultan’s attention once more.

There was a weird tension between the tiefling and Adatian. Zarius wasn’t one to just be just brushed off and ignored while Adatian very evidently had some reservations about conversing with him. The Sultan keeps his composure and gives a polite nod to the tiefling while Madam Mohurk gives Cyran a glance. While her smile is still pleasant, there's a bit of worry in her eyes. 

“That is unfortunate.” Adatian folds his hands behind his back. “He has been struggling to bring the city to order for quite some time.”

“With all do respect, Darkveil has no more problems than any other.”

The Sultan scoffs. “You do not see a problem with criminals manipulating politics and using violence and lies to seize control of a populace?”

“Do you believe all laws to be fair? Do you not arm your soldiers with weapons and armor made from the minerals mined from the Devil’s Ridge? Have you always told your citizens the truth of your own actions?”

One of the guards makes a move towards Zarius. “Watch your tongue.”

Zarius breathes through his nose and backs off. “My apologies, your highness. I did not mean any offense.”

Adatian surprisingly waves the guard to stand down. “That is quite alright. I understand the situation in Darkveil is complicated. I do not live there, as such I only see it from a distance. I can, however, recognize the efforts to improve the situation, and I appreciate the work you are doing. Both of you.”

“Thank you.” Zarius nods.

The Sultan looks between the two men before glancing about the party. "Well, Madam, this is quite the event you have put together."

Madam Mohurk smiles and bows her head, relieved that some of the tension of the conversation has eased. "You are too kind, your highness."

"Perhaps I will partake in a game this evening." He looks back at Cyran and Zarius. "Would you two be interested in some friendly competition?"

Zarius glances at Cyran. It would be a good opportunity to speak more casually with the Sultan and perhaps get in his good graces. They of course would have to be cautious, but it wasn't an invitation that would likely be extended to them a second time. It was worth a shot. This too was just another gamble. 

"I certainly hope that you will not have us thrown in prison should we win," Zarius says with a joking tone and toothy smile. 

Adatian chuckles, the stern expressions he has held during this conversation finally lifting. "I think you will have your work cut out for you." He waves a hand and the guards make way for the group to head back to a private sitting area in the casino where there are a number of various games one could play. Adatian looks to Cyran. "Do you have a preference?"

The Sultan made no efforts to hide that he didn’t hold Zarius and his ilk in high esteem. While that was no surprise to Cyran, he also understood that Zarius had gone great lengths to cultivate the image of an upstanding citizen in his travels. His name was well-known, but the side-eye only served to demonstrate that there was a long road ahead in the relations between the Ashlands and Zeinav. That in itself was no surprise, but it did make this job more… frustrating. At least he still seemed to hold Cyran in high esteem, by some miracle, even as he expressed his confusion as to why Cyran would settle down in Darkveil of all places.

Thankfully, Zarius jumped to his aid with a more eloquent explanation than he was capable of offering. “Ah, yes, I own an orphanage in Darkveil.” He added as reinforcement. He understood that the skepticism was natural, but there was still a part of him that was protective of those who treated Zarius so poorly. While the young tiefling was admittedly a criminal and a liar - there was no denying that - but he still bristled watching the Sultan dismiss his words so readily. “Master Zarius is right. When I visited Darkveil, I saw a need for change. I am not ignorant to the city’s reputation… I merely wish to provide safety to the city’s children where it is most necessary.”

“Count Mallock?” Cyran’s brows furrowed. He knew of the man’s name and reputation, of course, but no - he’d never met the man, nor did he have any interest in such a thing. Where Zarius thrived in making connections with others, Cyran wanted as little attention on himself as possible. Zarius jumped in before Cyran could express that he had never met the man, though Cyran wasn’t sure if the interjection did more harm than good. Though Zarius was as amicable and level-headed as ever, and the Sultan kept his composure, there was a storm brewing between the two, both so set in their convictions that there would be no reconciling them.

Cyran and Madam Mohurk shared a worried look.

They had good reason to be concerned.

The moment that the Sultan made a snide remark about Count Mallock’s ability to control crime in the city, he struck a nerve, prompting Zarius to fire back with his own rebuttal, a mounting argument growing in fervor until the point one of the Sultan’s guards stepped in front of Zarius and warned him to mind himself. Cyran held his breath, fingers itching for a blade in his hand as he watched Zarius - but the tiefling merely exhaled, forcing himself to calm and replacing that passion with manners once more. That small outburst, swept under the rug.

The Sultan, in turn, waved away his guard dog.

Cyran forced himself to relax as well. He didn’t think any conflict would happen, but if there was any offensive action taken against Zarius, Cyran would not hesitate to dispatch of anyone in his way in support. He bowed in response to the Sultan’s compliment, a grateful smile on his face. “Your words of support are much appreciated.”

He hoped that would be the end of it, until…

Oh dear god, the Sultan was inviting both of them to a poker game. Every instinct in him was screaming to deny the offer - to call this small conversation a success and retreat knowing they tentatively held the Sultan’s good will - but Zarius seemed willing to roll the dice. Take this even further. So Cyran would follow his lead. “I would be honored to share a game with you, your highness.” He affixed a sheepish smile on his face to hide the mounting dread at the prospect of Zarius and the Sultan having any sort of competition, which almost certainly would not end on friendly terms. “Though I must admit you won’t find much competition in me. I am not much of a gambler, but in the spirit of charity I am more than happy to give it a try.”

He was even offered pick of the game, much to his surprise. Cyran hummed, surveying the tables. Some of the games were familiar to him, most not - it probably should have occurred to him to pick a game based on pure luck alone, to prevent any cheating or mean spirited playing, but his lack of familiarity with any games prevented him from understanding how most were played. Eventually, he pointed to a table at random, one that looked mostly empty.

“Why don’t we keep it simple for a first game? A round of cards.” He offered with a smile.

Adatian nods. "Very well." He walks over to the table and sits down with his guards moving to stand behind him and to either side but at a respectable distance. The privacy of the secluded room was a welcome change from the crowded casino floor where there were many eyes on them.

Madam Mohurk lets out a brief sigh of relief as the group moves to a less public space and the tension between Zarius and the Sultan ebbs. She waves down a few servants to stay at the ready to serve the Sultan should he have any requests.

Zarius takes a seat across from Adatian and looks at Cyran, subtly gesturing for him to sit down next to him. The tiefling knows the elf has been attempting to pick up more sign language, it would be useful for them to be able to communicate silently under the table if needed. 

His plan going into this game was to lose, but not make it too obvious that was what he intended. He's pretty sure Cyran has no intentions of winning, but they may need to coordinate to ensure they do not accidentally upstage or embarrass the Sultan. 

The dealer, dressed formally but not nearly as flashy as the guests, takes their place at one end of the table and starts preparing the deck of cards. They show the deck to the Sultan who just gives a dismissive wave. 

Hovering by the Sultan, Madam Mohurk clears her throat. "Is there anything I can get for you, your highness?"

"No, thank you," he replies, resting his eblows on the armrests of the chair and folding his hands in front of himself. "I believe we are fine for the time being. Please, do not let me keep you from your other guests."

She nods and bows slightly, she could take a hint. "Enjoy your game."

The woman glances at Cyran and Zarius, a warning look in her eye despite the friendly smile. She wouldn't be able to help them smooth anything over if they made a mistep in the Sultan's presence. Stepping back, she excuses herself from the room to return to her other guests. They were on their own now. 

Cards are dealt out to the Sultan, the tiefling, and the elf. The dealer briefly explains the Zeinavian version of the rules before beginning the game. 

Adatian picks up his hand and examines the cards. "So," he begins as he reorganizes where his cards are. "Do be honest. Do you sincerely believe that your actions in Darkveil will have any lasting impact?"

Straight to the point. The Sultan wasn't a man for small talk it seemed. Zarius looks over his own hand, it is neither good nor bad, but the game has just begun. 

"Yes, I believe so," the tiefling replies after considering his words. "It will take time and effort, but anything worth doing does not necessarily come easy."

"Hm, I have my doubts."

"I understand, Darkveil's reputation is not the most positive."

"That is one way to put it. My brother believes we should be sending soldiers there to support Count Mallock."

Zarius pauses as he shuffles his cards about. "Your brother, he is in charge of your army, is he not?"

"That he is. Our forces are quite capable, but I am not convinced that even such a drastic action would truly solve Darkveil's issues."

"Darkveil's issues are like any other city's issues. Complicated."

"That argument again." The Sultan sighs. "I think it is quite dismissive to simply make excuses by comparing the city to others."

"I would say that it is being realistic, not dismissive. I am not arguing that because Darkveil is no worse than any other city that we should not be working to improve things. Quite the opposite really. Darkveil could become an example to other cities with similar problems."

"Hm, those are some honeyed words." Adatian glances up from his cards to look at Cyran across the table. "What is your opinion? What steps would you take to make lasting change in that ash covered land?"

Thankfully, Cyran’s lessons with Eirynor were paying off - he understood what Zarius was telling him. He responded in affirmative, making sure that Zarius knew he’d seen and understood. In reality, he had no intention of trying to win in the first place. The last thing Cyran wanted was any kind of attention that might come from accidentally showing up the Sultan. The idea of having any kind of attention on him, be it fame or notoriety or what have you, was a mortifying one. Any victory on his part would have been beginner’s luck, but Cyran would have to work harder to ensure that did not happen.

He took his seat next to Zarius as indicated, and the game began in earnest with Madam Mohurk’s hesitant departure. Her exit was like the final warning, a reminder that Cyran and Zarius would have to be the one to navigate this sea of piranhas on their own. He swallowed, the game’s instructions going in one ear and out the other while he followed the movements of the cards. He picked up his hand and inspected it - a piss-poor hand, all things considered.

Given that he was unfamiliar with the rules, abstaining a decent loss would not be too difficult. But neither the Sultan nor Zarius seemed especially interested in the game in the first place. Not as the conversation returned to the drastic differences in the two allied countries. The back and forth only served to solidify the irreconcilable differences between their countries. An alliance made from necessity, fraying at the edges. Cyran only hoped it would not snap completely.

Cyran hesitated. He was no policymaker, not the kind of man that enacted change - merely the blade with which to carry it out. There was no room in his life to give much thought about politics, nor did he care to. Up until he’d met Zarius, Cyran had never considered once politically allying himself to one particular force or nation.

“I warn you that I am no politician, your highness. Merely a concerned citizen.” He spoke with that same demure manner he had earlier when accepting the Sultan’s gratitude.

“My father used to say that the key to keeping any good society running smoothly is order. I suspect he might have agreed with you that military presence and funding would fix Darkveil’s issues.” He hummed, tapping at the chips in front of him idly. “But if you ask me, the more one tries to force change, the more resistance one will be met with.”

Everyone placed their bets - Cyran, deciding to play it safe, only putting a few chips in with the intention of dropping out of the race within the first few rounds.

“If I were to bring about positive change in Darkveil, I would start on an individual level. Educational and wellness policies to ensure that the people’s needs are met, and lessen reliance on crime out of necessity. From there, I would increase trade with neighboring countries, open up Darkveil’s unique resources to others to extend goodwill and open up necessary routes to obtain resources we need in turn.”

He offered a smile to both the Sultan and Zarius, sheepish. “Perhaps it is idealistic, and impossible to achieve. But that’s why I am merely an orphanage owner, and not one of the men in charge.” He finished, feeling rather lame about his answer.