In his centuries of experience, Cyran was no stranger to Sol City. The turbulence of the recent months - or if he was being truly honest with himself, the past year - had provided a breeding ground for instability in the nation’s capital. Political unrest, infestations from the sea, Scern’s recent escape. If Cyran were a more spiritually inclined man, he might believe there was something larger at play that so desperately wanted Sol City to sink beneath the depths that surrounded it. But the gods were dead. Cyran had seen that for himself, during the hunt for the Sol Stone, the fight with Ziev, and the capture of Scern; before that, Cyran had never put much faith in the gods anyways. There was no point in asking an elder being for help with your problems when an immortal could not comprehend the gravity of them in the first place.

But it was not the missing mad cultist that brought Cyran to Capitol Landing today. He was here on his own… personal research was a good term for it. After the cult of Vulcadreus stole his partner from their very home, there had been countless questions simmering in the back of Cyran’s mind. The bounty on Del’s head from the crown. The Crucible. Information that only the royal family would have, and yet, these cultists seemed to know that Del was a person of interest. Zarius had been looking into the cult that had kidnapped Del, searching for a leak in his network, to no avail. It was time for Cyran to do some looking from his own. One couldn’t glean information on a tree from the leaves alone. You had to get closer to the roots.

So. Here he was.

It had been a rather uneventful day of information gathering, one that hadn’t yielded the results he had hoped for. But it was difficult for a person of his lowly stature to get access to any information that was so tightly guarded by the Sun Elves of Sol City. If he couldn’t, how had a couple of cultists done so? Cyran had to figure out where the gap was. Elucidate the weak point just like he would any target, and drive his dagger into that vulnerable spot. But for now, he was tired after a long day of investigation, and he could use a moment of respite.

The Brass Dragon had not changed since the last time he’d visited. At his age, it was all too easy to watch the world change around you while you stayed stagnant, driven by human innovation. But the Brass Dragon was the same, as lovey as ever and warm like a drake’s fiery core. Cyran shrugged off his jacket and found the nearest seat. Not many people paid attention to him. Despite the oddities of his appearance - one eye, streaks of startling silver interwoven in his hair, a posture and gait that spoke of years of experience not being noticed - few people paid attention to him after his initial entrance. That was just fine with Cyran. He found a table in a corner, slinging his jacket over the back and settling in for an evening that would consist of a plain meal and people-watching. An evening he’d lived countless times before in his decade of solitude as a roaming hunter. Cyran was no stranger to loneliness.

So why did it feel so daunting now?

He twisted the ring in his finger as he flagged down a waitress and ordered some wine. Perhaps it was just that he’d gotten so accustomed to having people in his life to travel with for once that doing so in solitude was almost foreign to him now. A strange feeling. One he would choose to examine later. For now, he had a tavern to keep an eye on.

Midgard had always heard tales of Sol City. A place of royals, and the epicenter of power in Charon. After landing with the rest of the crew of a ship he had been helping in exchange for passage, the Draconynh man wanders the streets of this nearly island-wide city, at awe at the sheer size and scope of it. He is assaulted with all types of sights, sounds, and smells while he saunters through, feeling slightly overwhelmed because of this. Though even in a place like this, some things remain the same, especially when it comes the clear gap between the haves and have-nots. Glimpses of men and women in simple working clothes and the signs of shantytowns just in the peripheral of the docks. Being a man of fashion and charisma, Midgard does occasionally get mistaken as someone of fairer breeding, as some may put it, by both sides of the gap as he walks. At a certain point, as much as he loves attention, it becomes a bit too much right this moment, and he does his best to make himself unnoticeable as possible, sticking to the alleyways and shadows. A feat all too familiar to him.

He eventually finds himself in front of a cozy looking tavern. “Hm. The Brass Dragon, huh? I suppose they can be alright, though I was expecting something a bit more pretentious from an establishment in this sort of city.” He mutters to himself in his typical suave, sassy voice of his. “But, better than nothing.” He enters the tavern, taking in the more familiar sights and senses a sailor would know. After getting an initial drink of rum from the bar, he searches for an appropriate place to sit for his full meal on land in quite a while. He spots one, and makes his way over to it, sitting down comfortably. Though it takes him a moment too late to notice that it was already occupied by an individual on the other side of the table.

”Oh gods!” He exclaims in surprise. “I am so sorry, good sir! I had no idea that you were here.”

Even when he was off the clock, Cyran took great lengths to make sure he could protect himself. The table he’d selected wasn’t just chosen because it lay in a darkened corner, untouched by lantern light where most wouldn’t pay any attention to him, but because it also allowed Cyran to see in turn. He had a good view of the tavern from here, the comings and goings of patrons through the door. He was not an especially suspicious person, but the assassin had not made it thus far by being careless. Age and experience had taught him better than that.

But the late afternoon seemed quiet enough. Most locals had popped in merely to lament their sorrows over a flagon of dragonwhiskey, if only to forget for a moment the dire straits that the capitol had found itself in. A few others listened to a bard crooning a morose song in the corner. He sipped at his wine, wondering if he should order something to eat when a colorful draconynh strolled through the front door.

A bit on the nose, isn’t it? Cyran wondered idly, watching the newcomer with about as much attention as he gave everyone exiting and entering the tavern. He was rather well dressed, in a bright coat that matched his scales reminiscent of pirate wear he’d seen in the past. Cyran was no stranger to raiders and seafarers, an old friend of his belonging to their ilk - come to think about it, a woman he’d once sat with in this very tavern as they drank to their woes. The sight made him nostalgic. He wondered how Vi’ira was doing these days.

To his surprise, though, the draconynh started sauntering towards him.

Cyran’s shoulders stiffened, wondering what the stranger could want. But he didn’t even seem to be looking at Cyran. He hadn’t even seemed to notice the assassin clad in black leathers and cloth that had already settled in here. Not until he took a seat and startled, profusely apologizing.

Cyran shook his head, a small smile growing on his face. When he spoke, his voice was soft, though not unkind. “Don’t worry about it.” He insisted. “You are hardly the first person to make this mistake I tend to blend into the crowd.” By his own design, though it often led to amusing scenarios like this. “It happens more often than one might think… don’t feel like you have to move. It’s getting pretty busy, and I don’t mind sharing so long as you’re comfortable.”

The amber, slitted-pupil eyes of the draconynh gaze over the elven figure, now able to full take in his visage. The dark clothing, the brooding demeanor. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Midgard was familiar with these type of individuals, as he was one himself if given proper payment for such services. Though admittedly, the brooding part could never fit one as glamourous as himself.

"Well, if you truly don't mind." Midgard sits himself and gets more comfortable in his seat. His eyes flit around the space quickly, making sure he knows his possible dangers and exits should things go south, as they tend to do when it comes to Midgard. "I'm usually a bit more observant, but I just got into port a little while ago. The exhaustion of the day and getting my land legs again have me more distracted than usual, haha." He chuckles. "Oh, but where are my manners!" The sailor tips his tricorn hat in greeting. "The name is Midgard. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

After the initial shock of realizing he wasn’t alone at the table, the draconynh didn’t appear especially bothered by the presence of the quiet stranger. Cyran tilted his head, watching as the finely-dressed individual settled into his seat. If he worked in the profession Cyran thought he did, then he was doubtlessly used to doing business dealings with people like Cyran. A fact that was both a comfort and a worry - it meant that the draconynh had a high probability of guessing what Cyran did for a living, and an equally high probability he wouldn’t care. Troublesome, only because Cyran was trying to keep a low profile during his visit here. If even one person were to recognize the presence of an assassin in Sol City, that was information that he could easily sell to others if he was so inclined. And given the state of his attire, he was no stranger to the finer things in life.

Cyran wouldn’t let that stop him from making small talk, though.

He waved a dismissive hand through the air, a small smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. Even the most observant have their blind spots.” He tapped at his cheek under his right eye, an idle movement, one that brought the stranger’s attention to the patch over the right side of his face. An injury that had never properly healed. He was certain perhaps he could have found a cleric powerful enough to restore the eye he’d once lost to its normal state, but Cyran liked the reminder. “And though I’m not a local, allow me to welcome you to town. The journey overseas to make it to port is not always the most pleasant. I don’t blame you for being exhausted.”

He paused as the stranger introduced himself, offering a name - Midgard. A fitting name for someone of his countenance and stature. Though not the tallest draconynh Cyran had ever seen, the brightly-colored man still appeared taller than the elf, and carried himself with a self-assured confidence that almost bordered on grandiosity. A casual demeanor that seemed to hide sharper wit and even sharper instincts.

Cyran offered his hand out - one clad with a ring on the finger that seemed to catch in the tavern’s dim light. Though it had been years since he’d lived the noble’s life in moonglade, become so irrevocably changed from the man he’d once been before exile, the manners had been a habit he’d never quite been able to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Midgard. My name is Cyran.” As always, he offered no family name - because he did not have one to claim. “Feel free to tell me to bugger off if you’d like, but I often find that it’s a nice opportunity to get to know others when little coincidences like this happen. What brings you to the Capitol?”

If draconynh could sweat, there would be cold sweat over this one. The way the elf stares at him, Midgard could swear the man can read his entire life's story if he wanted to. A skill that is quite troublesome for someone of the sailor's countenance, especially if he gets up to his usual trouble anywhere he goes. Better to gain a friend here then an enemy I suppose. He thinks to himself.

"I wouldn't dare brush off a new possible friend! Especially not in a place I have no preexisting connection, haha." He chuckles, somewhat nervously as he takes a sip of his drink. "As to what brings me here: opportunity! There are plenty of things that needs doing here in the Capitol, and I thought I would try my luck. I have many talents, so surely someone might need the skills of a gentleman such as myself." Even if he felt slightly unnerved by his tablemate, his natural charisma can't help but come out as he speaks. His eyes flicker over to the glint of the ring, then back to Cyran. "And what about you? Are you here in the Capitol for someone special, perhaps?"

“Jack of all trades, master of none.” Cyran murmured to himself, almost as an afterthought as Midgard described what had brought him to Sol City. “Better than a master of one. I suppose you’ve come to the right place if you’re looking for coin and connection.”

He offered Midgard a friendly smile, drumming his fingers against the table in a gentle, rhythmic motion. Tap-tap-tap. “The city’s been in… dire straits, I suppose, as of late.” He sighed. “Natural disasters, political instability, Scern’s escape… if there’s ever a time with someone with a lot of talents to come in and offer his skills, it would be now.” Especially since the Capitol had been in a state of emergency, of sorts, ever since the mad cultist’s escape. Midgard, who seemed sharper than he looked, was perhaps one of those mercenaries who thought he might collect the bounty for bringing a dangerous criminal in it. Or perhaps Cyran was just seeing enemies and criminals in random strangers when he ought to be seeing friends.

“If you need help, I’d be happy to direct you where you might find work.” Cyran continued. He was not a Sol City native, but he understood the ins and outs of the city well enough. “There are a couple of broken down buildings that need repairing and food drives if you’re interested in charity work. If it’s money you want, though, there are always nobles looking for hired hands.” His tone was casual, not particularly probative, though he could not deny being interested in what Midgard’s interests might lie in. The offer to help, though, was sincere. Beneath the layers of fatigue and skepticism remained someone who just wanted to give people assistance wherever he could - but whether Midgard was someone who preferred to keep his fairs wholly to himself or not was yet to be seen.

Midgard’s gaze flicked down to the ring on Cyran’s finger. Cyran shrugged nonchalantly in response to the question. “Sort of. Though my partner isn’t from around here, either. I’m… scoping out wedding destinations, I suppose you could say.” That last part was a bit of a fib, one he sent a mental apology to Del for. Though they’d not really discussed where they lay in their relationship, he hoped she wouldn’t mind him talking about it so brazenly with strangers - much less insinuating that they might get married. But it was a good excuse.

Besides, it might technically not be a lie. The gilded city had plenty of scenic wedding destinations.

Midgard seems less than enthusiastic when Cyran mentions the first few opportunities. “While I’m no stranger to good old manual labor and charity work, I get enough of that on the deck of a ship.” He chuckles softly. “I must admit that I was hoping for something a bit more… engaging, let us say.” The sailor gives a pointed look towards the eleven man across from him as he says this. A look Cyran may be all too familiar with if Midgard’s suspicions were correct. 

“And I’m sure some noble might have what I’m looking for. But then again, I find working with them to be tiring. At least more so than with people of our ilk.” The amber eyes stare deep into Cyran’s for a good few seconds, before they turn into a playful wink and smile from the draconynh. He takes another swig of his drink, placing the mug next to him on the table as he positions himself so that he can talk with his new friend properly. “And congratulations, by the way! If you are looking for wedding vistas, I’m more partial to seaside venues. Though, from where I came in from, I wouldn’t recommend. Not exactly the romantic beach type of setting over by the docks. But I’m sure this island has one nice beachside at least.”

“Ah.” Cyran hummed, picking up on Midgard’s rather… pointed glances and his line of speech. Though perhaps some might have identified the man as the rough, guarded type, the elderly elven man seemed rather calm even in the face of Midgard’s accusations. Truthfully, he didn’t mind one way or another what Midgard knew of him, or thought he knew. Though their dress and mannerisms were different, he knew what Midgard was trying to convey. They came from the same dark underground, a place perfect from those who didn’t shy away from dirty work in a different kind of sense. And that comment about their ilk…

Oh, he was definitely fishing now. Cyran didn’t mind. Though he generally preferred to work alone, previous experience had proven he certainly didn’t mind allies, much less new friends. He leaned back in his seat, meeting Midgard’s gaze with equal intensity, though not particularly guarded. “I understand what you mean perfectly.” He replied, waving a dismissive hand. He’d grown up around nobles, after all. “I think I have an idea of what you’re looking for. If you want an idea of where to look, I could always point you in the right direction. I wouldn’t mind some extra help while I’m in the city myself if you’re amenable to working with me. Then again, I understand the merit of keeping social relationships social, and professional ones professional, so I won't be offended either way.”

He technically wasn’t lying when he said that he was here for wedding destinations - Cyran had been poking around Charon the last few weeks as a distraction, looking for places that Del might like to be married. Though his business here in Sol City had left him feeling… stretched thin. Perhaps this would be a good idea to outsource some of the work and assess Midgard’s capabilities as a potential ally, see if he could put his money where his mouth was.

… Gods help him, Cyran was starting to sound like Zarius.

“And thank you.” Cyran’s smile was warm as he replied in thanks to Midgard’s congratulations. “Unfortunately, my intended has an… aversion to water, so a beachfront wedding is out of the picture. But I like to assess all my options, Sol City included. And there are some rather lovely churches in the area.”

As calm and collected as he could, Midgard lets out a sigh of relief. His perception and intuition have not failed him yet, as they are wont to do so in newer places such as this. The tension in his scaled brows relaxes as his suspicions are confirmed, and he takes back on his usual air of laissez-faire suaveness. “Glad to see I still got it. Yes, I would be very much interested in whatever you may have to offer! And of course I can accompany you. Unlike some, I don’t mind mixing business and pleasure~” He winks flirtatiously at the eleven gentleman, chuckling as he sips on his drink. “Though I probably shouldn’t be saying such to a soon-to-be married man.” The scaled man shrugs, with a hint a playfulness in it.

Leaning forward and putting his hands in a steeple manner, Midgard does seem to get a bit more serious now, though never losing that charismatic cockiness while doing such. “Sorry to hear your partner’s aversion to water. I would have found you to perfect beach getaway this side of Charon. But to the point of my assistance in your troubles: what is it you would like for me to do? Is there a place you have in mind that is difficult to get to if you don’t have a reservation at the venue? Or perhaps what you have in mind isn’t porn this time of year but you really want to see how it looks inside before you book it? I have a multitude of skills that can get you whatever you wish. All you have to do is give me some directions and objectives, and you shall have what you desire~”

Cyran huffed out a laugh at Midgard’s flirtatious jokes. It seemed the assassin had stumbled upon the more flamboyant type… an interesting personality given his self-professed line of business. He certainly couldn’t say that he’d encountered someone with such a colorful personality and a brazenness before, but at the very least it meant that working together certainly wouldn’t be boring. He picked up his wine glass, swirling the drink now, thoughtful now that the conversation had drifted towards more professional matters. Though he was still relaxed, there was a no-nonsense gleam to his eye. The normally reserved man was a professional, and took his own matters with all the seriousness that could be expected of someone his age.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not especially partial to the sea myself, so it’s no loss on my end.” He said in response to Midgard’s condolences in regards to their wedding venue. He understood the love of the sea the way one might understand a foreign language - Cyran himself had never particularly been a fan of the ocean, but there were those who braved the depths, relished the challenge of the sea’s fury. He supposed, in that case, Midgard’s boldness made sense.

As for the work…

Cyran glanced around, making sure that there were no prying eyes and listening ears. Even though they appeared to have complete privacy, he was still hesitant to explain everything in full detail. He took a sip of his drink, watching Midgard carefully. “I’ve got more work afterwards if you’re interested, but let’s start with something small. There are a couple of churches in the area that I’ve been looking at for potential venues, but I’m… a bit paranoid, you could say. I don’t want to book any venue without knowing about the officials that work there. If I give you a list of places and names, would you be able to discretely look into them?”

Midgard felt a bit hurt at the declaration that Cyran also had no interest in the sea. He was hoping he’d at least find another lover of the waves as much as him. But it would seem that, at least today, there will be no such luck. “A shame. Once this was all over and we had a bit of free time, I was a bit inclined to take you out on a little sea voyage. But I suppose it’s not for everyone it seems.” He shrugs, swirling his drink in his cup before downing the rest of it. The cup softly clinks as its placed back down, the black claws of the draconynh rhythmically tapping on the side of the cup as he thinks.

“Very well. How discreetly are we talking? And are you sure that it’s just recon that you wish for? Like I said before, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, if you need me to prove myself.” Whatever it is that Cyran requires of Midgard, it becomes apparent that he takes the request seriously. Perhaps a bit too seriously, or at the very least too enthusiastically. Though you could hardly blame the man. The poor thing hasn’t had a chance to stretch his legs out in quite a while, in this line of work anyways. And this was the perfect opportunity to do so.

Cyran offered the draconynh a small smile at the offer of a sea voyage, the vestiges of noble politeness that never quite wore off no matter how unsavory the idea seemed to him. Unlike Del, he did not have an outright aversion to being on the ocean. The fear did not grip him whenever he stepped on a sea vessel. But truth be told, it was not necessarily his favorite method of travel. The offer to visit the ocean, though, was a sweet one. He shook his head. “Well, I’d never say no to the offer of an outing between friends, my own personal aversions aside. Do you own a seafaring vessel yourself?” He could only assume that Midgard either captained one, based on his manner of attire and the confidence with which he spoke of taking it out on the water, or was a crew member on one. “What’s her name?”

It was a comfort to see Midgard taking this seriously, if not with the touch of over enthusiasm of someone eager to prove his worth and make his mark. Cyran had met people like this before. Hell, when he was just getting started in the business he probably would’ve acted much the same if he were a younger man. But there was hunger in that gaze, the desire to be set free and truly show off his skills. He hoped a touch more caution was within that repertoire.

He glanced around the room before speaking once more. “I don’t particularly want it known that these individuals have eyes on them, so to speak.” A warning - don’t let yourself get caught. “And just the reconnaissance for now, I should think.” As an assassin, it was easy for him to react to situations with the same manner of discretion, that a problem could be taken care of and silenced with a dagger in the back. But not all jobs required it. Sometimes the hardest thing was knowing when to step back and merely be an observer, to wait in the sands until it was time to dart out and strike.

He paused, thoughtful. It was true he was curious about Midgard’s mettle. But he did not want to be hasty. “There will be… other jobs to come. Unfortunately for you, I probably move a little bit slower than other employers you’re accustomed to.” He tilted his head to the side, sheepish. “I think a slow, careful start built on mutual trust is the key foundation to any allyship. You’d be doing me a great favor by doing this. And of course, I would not be offended if you wished to rest my skills as well. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do to demonstrate my worth, as well.”

A bit of mutual assurance never hurt, after all.