• Closed • A Business Proposition

[Patrick]

Zi'da 70th 716 AV, Noon

Location: Central Ne'haer, "C's" Private Residence

Before Patrick and Alistair was a rather large house that... well okay 'house' rather putted it mildly, as manor more appropriately described the type of establishment they'd found. Indeed while it looked a little weather worn and covered in snow, the estate before them had been the address they were told to head towards. Just who was this man who wanted to meet Patrick? Why in Idalos did he want to them to stop by for a visit sometime? Before their arrival Patrick wasn't sure, and now that they were here he really didn't want to know. Usually rich tits who could afford large places like this always wanted work, and not the typical kind of work that came easy to some.

So what did this "C" guy want Patrick to do? Granted they'd found some interesting treasure several days ago, the options were pretty limited in his own mind. The man either wanted to buy what they'd acquired, or learn of what they knew about the ruins. Unless he'd also heard of Patrick's profession as well, which could then equal to entertainment on his behalf... With Alistair here? Well that certainly posed interesting to consider, hopefully this rich guy wasn't some creepy old pervert. Just the idea alone made Patrick shudder.

"Right. This is the place." Patrick pointed out as they walked up to the front door together, his eyes soared behind them to observe the interesting yard. With the shrubs and trees all covered in snow, Patrick could only imagine how great the place looked in warmer weather. Did this man even have a gardener? Was he wanting one? "Focus Pat, he's here strictly on business terms." The harlot reminded himself as he gave a nod to Alistair, with a hand then raised to knock on the door before them. Did he seem nervous? Alistair probably could tell he was nervous. Actually scratch that because Alistair knew he was nervous, thanks to the tether that linked their souls together anyways.

Once the door knob turned and opened a thin lanky man who looked well aged answered the door, his beady eyes wearily watched the two men at the door. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Pardon me but I recently got a letter from the man who lives here," Patrick flashed the letter for the man to read, "Never really gave a name but he invited us 'ere."

"So I see." The old man muttered as he read over the letter. "You two are the ones Mr. Crowley wrote to then, he's been expecting you to show sooner or later." The man folded and returned the letter to Patrick, and moved aside to invite the two inside the lobby. "Mr. Crowley is within his study, I'd be delighted to escort you two there." The man added as he shut the door behind the two.

"Thanks, would actually appreciate that Mr?" Pat trailed off for a name to be thrown in, unsure of what to call this gentleman that guided them.

"Barnes." The man finally responded as they walked up a staircase from the room of the entrance, they went up onto the second floor and down a hall which led to a lobby. "Allow me to make sure he's ready for guests before you enter." Barnes instructed as he opened the door and slid within the crack.

"Faldrun's balls." Patrick muttered as he looked around in awe, surprised to be within a finely decorated place. "I've always had dreams 'bout livin' in a place like this, but damn if he isn't livin' in some kind o' wealth!" He carried on like the low born citizen he was, forgetful that Alistair likely wasn't effected by this display of wealth.

[Alistair]

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The manor they'd been invited to had certainly been nice, but...

...it wasn't nearly as exceptional as the Sabaissant du Cristel - the ducal palace of House Venora - as one could estimate from the poshness of the name. Alistair had always noticed that merchant princes never had quite the same luster to their home environment that the Rynmeren nobility had, likely due to the fact that they had to invest directly into homes and ships rather than all of their endeavors being funded by taxes. In truth, to be a Duke was to be the business owner of a whole Duchy, and the merchant-class of Rharne and Ne'haer had taught him that even in the basket of foreign privilege, Alistair was still... more privileged than they were.

"Do you want to know how many rooms the Sabaissant du Cristel has, Patrick?" he asked, noting that the man was clearly astounded by the scale of this... hovel, by Alistair's standards. "Thirty eight, and that's merely covering for the House Venora inhabitants. There are around a forty more for slaves and servants."

He knew that the worst conversation to engage with among peasants was having exceptional hereditary privilege, but it remained that, to Alistair... it was entertaining to poke fun at the impoverished class. Why was it entertaining? Well... he had been working that out with himself for quite a while, and blamed the Duchess Ebony's condescension against the proletarian class for his demeanor towards their poverty.

Nevertheless, he followed his partner quietly, bowing politely to Sir Barnes as they waited to be introduced to Lord Crowley. He had to admit that the interior of the state was well-maintained; it was certainly attractive enough to serve as a vacation home for a Duke or Count, if not at least their guest lodging during the seasonal festivities.

"I've always had dreams 'bout livin' in a place like this, but damn if he isn't livin' in some kind o' wealth!" he heard, the man snapping Ali out of his thoughts. The noble nodded slightly, though he found himself grinning all the same.

"His dogs are probably of more fiscal importance that most children," he stated, only partially in sarcasm. It was likely true, he couldn't deny... as many absurd things were fact with the ruling class - few individuals knew this, but House Venora had a tendency of sending others gifts of roses and other flowers picked in the ducal greenhouse in Sabaissant. Some of the flowers picked there were worth multitudes more than your average slave, placing the value of a flower above that of a human.

"Here's something you might find interesting," he began, almost in tangent, "I once had a wealthy merchant from this very city offer my family sixty thousand gold nels for my virginity. He was actually quite handsome, a biqaj... with those darkly features and all... but of course, they declined for the sake of prestige." He said this almost solemnly. The mage's life could have been so much different if he'd been liberated by a biqaj's... cutlass, quite a bit earlier than his romp with Patrick just this Vhalar.

"How much did your virginity cost?" he asked, teasing the harlot. "Three beers? Or was it just a pretty lad or lass catching your attention that did it?" His question being asked, the two were beckoned to meeting with Lord Crowley. Alistair almost blushed, figuring their potential 'employer' might have heard his line of questioning. Oh well.

[Patrick]

Patrick definitely neglected to consider the fact Alistair was of noble birth; therefore to hear how grand his own home was, in comparison to this place, intrigued Patrick as he tried to imagine that many rooms in such one estate. By the Seven that surely had to be impossible to manage! How in Idalos could so many rooms be packed into one building? The idea astounded the drunkard while he eyed the decorations and furniture.

"Well then, good t' know the Venora's paid me a pretty nel t' do that." Patrick teased in a way which threw it back in Alistair's face, seeing as how it was Patrick himself that had been paid to 'deflower' the man. For a moment Patrick couldn't help but chuckle softly at the next remark though, as ironically his own virginity as it were had been costed by another means. No he wasn't paid for it, and he certainly did not give it up to anyone so willingly. No. Patrick had experienced what he wanted to think was actual love once, and in that period of his life he found that his attachment to this woman made the experience... thrilling.

Yet that was the past and he didn't intend to dwell on the subject, and luckily just when he lacked a proper response; the door opened with Barnes allowing them to head inside. "Mr. Crowley will see you now." The gentleman gave a slight bow out of respect as the two entered the office, a click heard behind them as the door softly shut behind them once inside. Inside the office was more interesting if not peculiar decorations, a few shelves with books and tomes, cases and tables which displayed a few oddities like stones or gems.

At the center of the room at his desk was a middle aged man with short well kept hair, a barely a few but fine wrinkles within his face, and a large well groomed black mustache with traces of grey at the end. The smell of tobacco loomed within the room, as the man smoked his cigar comfortably within his leather chair. "Welcome boys," Crowley greeted as he leaned forward onto the desk, "My name is Garland Crowley." With a quick glance exchanged between the men, Crowley chuckled as he rested his cigar in a glass tray.

"Trust me kid," He focused on Alistair, "Doesn't matter what the cost is; so long as it was worth the experience." Crowley finally remarked to the Venora with a short laugh. "Besides! I'm sure this man's experience was plentiful enough to spoil yours!" Patrick couldn't help but snort and laugh just a little, a crooked grin shot to Alistair as he likely blushed even further now. "How about we discuss business though! You two kids went out and discovered something recently, even brought back a few pieces of treasure with you; did you not?"

"Aye," Patrick responded a little nervously with a hand subconsciously grasped over his pocket, "It was more like a tomb or old temple o' some sort. Some old tribe once resided there a long time ago."

"Well now, pretty good. Simple stuff you likely learned in your search for treasure. Any idea what this tribe was and who the people there were?" Crowley inquired with an raised eyebrow at the two, neither one seemed able to answer. "Well then, this poses interesting!" The man rose out of his chair and in doing so grabbed a book from within his desk, an old dusty tome with its leather and binding terribly worn down. "Here, take a look at this."

Patrick took the offered book and opened it to the first page with writing found, scribbles which looked incredibly old with unusual symbols outlined the text. "Can't understand it." He remarked while he allowed Alistair to take a gander.

"The text translates from an ancient tribe that used the Zekarian texts in a unique sense of style." Crowley explained as he leaned back onto the desk. "From one part of the gibberish I've managed to decode, there's a mentioning of the Orimatsu tribe that worshiped the Emea. Even had something known as 'the Jewel of the Emea' in their possession, kept hidden within a secret bastion their people guarded vigilantly."

[Alistair]

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Doesn't matter what the cost is, as long as it was worth the experience. The man rolled his eyes, and followed the gesture by a clear shake of his head; a sign of disagreement. "No, Mister Crowley, I do not quite agree. There is not a single experience so great as to be valued at such a gargantuan priceline; while we wealthy blow away our bank accounts and treasure troves on temporal and shallow entertainment, other things could be done for the better of our respective communities. Or, in my case, realms of rulership." The nobleman was very clear in his disapproval of the notion... that sixty thousand gold nel could be a proper tag for any such thing, certainly not the virginity of a nobleman. Sixty thousand gold nel could build hospitals, places of education, and areas of trade and commerce for the citizenry.

While Alistair was no unconditional lover of the peasantry, he did not find the value in surrendering opportunities to better his realm for the sake of his own misplaced desires. He spoke, then, as a pragmatist - one who actually intended to do his job when he came into rulership, rather than utilizing the ducal funds for his pleasures.

Regardless, this conversation was not of great importance, as Ser Crowley was not even a man of Rynmere, but an individual of foreign wealth. And... it wasn't like he was being entirely serious anyway, Alistair knew. He was playing jokes at Alistair's expense, which became abundantly clear as he pointed out Patrick of a man of enough experience to spoil Alistair's.

...

That was, in fact, true -- but indeed, he did blush profusely at the notion. Spoil me? The mage shook his head, and took a breath. He'd clearly placed himself, unintentionally, into an environment of far too serious caliber. This man was not a politician, but a jester.

"I apologize, Lord Crowley," he responded, "I forget of my nobility at times."

Shortly after saying that, Alistair allowed the two to discuss their findings, as well as Crowley's interest in the tomb they... plundered, very recently. The mage had brought the ancient book he'd retrieved with him, and allowed Crowley to view upon the artifact as he saw fit, though with an expression that clearly compelled that he return it upon finishing with his observation of the text. Listening to the man speak of the words before him, Alistair's interest drew.

"Worshiping Emea?" he raised a brow. 'Twas a proper Lord indeed, in Alistair's perspective. Unlike the Immortals, Emea offered mankind true power, in the form of magic. Energy. It was the true source of man's liberation, and was the base at which all greatness in Idalos spawned. A hidden artifact in the facet of Emea was something of astounding interest to the mage, who at present, had been attempting to study the power of Emea for quite some time. He believed it was the secret to true greatness, and he wasn't alone - it was not for enjoyment that Ellasin Dathlande sought Adriel en Avellach, but for the weapon's alleged properties in harnessing Emea's endless basin of power.

"A fancy gem at the most, I'd assume," he replied, cynically. "If they truly had an artifact that interacted with Emea in their possession, they'd likely be the rulers of these lands by now. There is no greater power that one can wield."

[Patrick]

Crowley had certainly been amused with the conversation of spoiling and nobility, and even briefly laughed upon Alistair's apology near the topic's end. "Such is our nature dear boy, we as mankind easily forget there's more colorful backgrounds in the world." He reasoned as he flicked ash from his cigar, it would seem his own interest in the tribe would be matched by the noble's soon.

"Yes indeed. With so much mysticism about the Emea, its difficult to interpret what aspect they truly worshiped. From what I've gathered though, they were more spiritual about their beliefs. Even crazy enough to commune with spirits and even demons within, although that's just part of the superstition found in their disappearance." The man answered as he rose to a stand from his desk. "The theory that's tied into the myth however is that they disappeared because of the jewel, so if what you're saying is true then perhaps they failed to comprehend such power." Crowley suggested it like he knew more than he let on, and with the artifacts presented for him to examine the man couldn't help but smile.

"As I thought; what you have there Mr. Barnell is an actual key to their greatest door." He rambled as he examined the markings etched into the dagger. "This is certainly well crafted like a ceremonial dagger, but the shape resembles the keyholes they use to lock and seal their doors. Fascinating mechanisms they are." He mused with the dagger handed back to Patrick, with the book next in his possession Crowley immediately began to skim the first few pages.

"So what's it a key to exactly?" Patrick inquired as he glanced at Alistair on occasion.

"Mostly crypts and ancient burial grounds, but for some reason..." Crowley paused with a lean onto his desk, his free hand blindly searched for a parchment left behind, until finally he pulled up a sheet that appeared to be a sort of translator. "Its runic markings differ."

"Well... we also found somethin' else, but it was taken by the scholar we escorted there." Patrick added with another look at the dagger, curious as to what exactly about the markings made this one different from the other keys.

"The chalice I take it. I've already had the luxury of speaking with your previous employer." Crowley hinted as he slowly walked towards the door, his eyes still heavily bore into the book and its translation. "Mentions the jewel of course... heart of... You gotta be kidding me." His brows furrowed as he looked up from the book. "Not only did you two find a key, but the guide to finding the ancient city Orimar."

"Orimar?" Patrick repeated out of confusion with yet another look to Alistair, curious as to whether or not he knew anything regarding the name.

"Orimar; the heart of the world they call it. Bunch of metaphorical bastards they were, but to think it actually still exists to this day..." Crowley looked back down to the book with wonder, the ancient tome briefly shut and held for Alistair to take back if he chose. "Walk with me." The man insisted as he headed for the door and led on with a casual stroll, Patrick merely shrugged to his partner as he listened to the man. They were headed down the hall and back into the main lobby, only to divert from the entrance down into some sort of wing on the western side. From there Crowley walked on until they arrived at a door Barnes had just came out of, "How's our other guest?"

"Same as before sir, though his grogginess is wearing off." The servant answered with a respectful bow, wary eyes shot to the two men that followed as well.

"Excellent! You boys obviously were kept out of the dark in all this, how would you like a chance to fix that?" Crowley inquired as he turned to look at them, curious to see if they were even interested in the aspect of this treasure.

[Alistair]

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Orimar? He had no idea what that was, nor did he know anything about these traditions of theirs, or the tribe itself. As far as he was concerned, Orimar may as well have been a hovel held up by two sticks and a cow's arse, and in all likelihood, it was. "I doubt the authenticity of this 'Heart of the World', as most tribal secrets tend to be seething in unfounded superstition," he said bluntly, showing express doubt in the face of Mister Crowley. How could a place such as that exist without being plundered to oblivion by ambitious mages? Yet, he couldn't help but admit his latent curiosity. If Orimar genuinely did have magical artifacts within, it could hold his secret to defeating Ellasin.

The man sighed, taking back the book. Did this gentleman really know anything about this... lost city? Could he really read what was within this book? Alistair's skepticism was showing, strongly, and he knew -- but he couldn't help himself regardless. There was not a single fragment of him that had faith in Crowley's intentions. As such, he decided to make that clear.

"Lord Crowley," he called him, though the title wasn't exactly... accurate. "I'm going to ask you a question. What are your intentions with this... tribe? Orimar, the Jewel of Emea, all that. You surely can't claim with a straight face that it's all an academic interest. Surely your interest must be vested, or you would not be placing this much emphasis on the idea." He looked to Patrick, as if to see whether or not the man agreed with him. Regardless of the fact, the mage was going to be honest, as he always was. Well... almost always.

"And furthermore, why is this man... groggy? He was under another's employ, rather than your own, correct? Does this mean you've been interrogating the poor man?" If it was Tresah they spoke of, Alistair was doubly upset about the idea of him being taken here by force -- Tresah was his commoner to shit on, not this Lord Crowley's. Clearly, the mage was being quite difficult, though it was largely because this man - for some reason - triggered his cynicism. Alistair was generally hostile to other ambitious individuals, and this wasn't Rynmere, so he had no need to play nice.

However, shortly after his line of questions, the man offered to pull them out of the dark, which he assumed meant telling them the full deal. Biting his lower lip, the mage nodded, accepting that offer as long as he told the whole truth... or at least, the majority of it. Leaning over to whisper in Patrick's ear, and taking his hand for a moment, the mage spoke.

"Sorry if I sound like a scrooge, Patrick," he whispered, "I think it's because my rear hurts from last night, frankly. That, and I don't like this man's demeanor. I've met too many men like him among mages, and they're rarely ever worth their word."

[Patrick]

When Alistair stated his opinion on the subject of this lost city, Crowley didn't seem surprised by the sound of cynicism involved from the noble man. Quite honestly Patrick had found the levity of the matter quite serious, granted his partner seemed to demonstrate extreme prejudice within his quarrel. Of course it didn't necessarily sound like unnecessary judgement on their behalf, as this was indeed something big that they were getting involved with.

A entire city that was lost? That alone would've been a fortune worth finding, scholars from all over Idalos would probably pay Fates knew how much; all just for the disclosed location of this said city. "I'm not surprised you think that," Crowley finally answered, "To be honest its something I never would've considered possible, but if you've looked around my home; you'll notice that mostly old antiques and such are all I have here. Much of them found from places I never knew existed, back in my younger days as a explorer."

Indeed he did point out something interesting; of all the decor that he could've had, none of it looked like what nobles would own. Granted there some of the furniture looked fancy, usually old vases or unusual figures were what decorated the room. So there had to be some sort of truth to what Crowley said, and if that were the case then he must've collected a lot of treasures over the years. When they arrived at the door and Barnes had bowed respectfully before heading away, Alistair then sounded keen to make clear what he wanted know.

"Strictly noble my boy." Crowley answered without hesitation. "I am a man who's entire life is halfway over; and I'm afraid I've only one more treasure hunt left in me, so this may be the only search I'll have the energy for." The man sighed as he became quite aware of where Alistair was going with this, after all something connected to the Emea had to be extremely powerful. Unstable even if this tribe disappeared out of the blue. Who knows what could've happened to them or this city, or if there was even anything there for them to discover. "I know you've got no reason to trust me, even more so because of what this gem could entail. Regardless Mr. Alistair; I give you my word that my only intention is to collect what could be my last treasure."

Then came the question of this groggy person Crowley had within his basement, somebody who both men believed to possibly be Tresah. "Interrogating? Well when you put it that way, I guess that's what I was doing with him. Regardless of what you may think boys, he's fine save for needing a proper bath; poor guy hasn't had a proper place to piss or shit in a day." He mused as he turned the door knob to allow light down the stairs into the basement.

"Hey ya said get as rough as ya could," Patrick answered to his lover with a snort, "But yeah I can understand where you're comin' from. He's too upfront and formal 'bout everythin', in a way its good knowin' he's got not really hidin' anythin'; but at the same time its a bit unsettlin'."

"You two need a moment?" Crowley inquired as he'd already taken a couple steps down, his eyes rested on them steadily in patience.

"Just a trill." Patrick answered before he turned to his lover once more. "For all we know he could be pullin' our chain, and Fates be damned if we find some sex crazed dungeon down there!" He teased with a roughly affectionate rub on Ali's shoulder. "Seriously though; think about this for a moment. We've got a potential treasure we can get our hands on, and chances are we can do more than just sell it for value! If this jewel is actually as potent with power as you say it is, then we may just have our means to kill of psycho-bitch and be rid of her." The suggestion was more or so aimed at Ellasin who he refused to acknowledge in public, if they had a chance to not only get rich but take down their enemies as well... then it sounded like something worth risking to Patrick.

"I've got a good feelin' on this love, and you of all people should know that my hunches are never off." He encouraged with a slide of his hand down Alistair's arm, when their palms met he locked fingers with him and pulled the man along down into the basement. The air became moist and damp with the scent of wine and brew, they descended down into the dim room where Crowley had already lit some candles. In a chair at the center was in fact Tresah with bonds and a cloth used to gag him, his eyes scrunched from the new sources of light as he'd found himself in new company. Aside from the red markings around his wrist from struggling, no other parts of Tres seemed to be harmed like Pat would've expected. Did Crowley really interrogate this man? Did he even use torture as a method?

[Alistair]

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He was very confused as to this man's subjective form of morality. Did he consider it morally appropriate -- or noble -- to steal someone away from society and interrogate them for your own purposes? He said his intentions were strictly noble, but not a minute after that admitted to interrogating Tresah, and the mage doubted the man accepted this interrogation willingly. So what was his... game? How did he expect for anyone to believe that a man capable of such lengths had 'noble' intentions? And why did he piss Alistair off so much?

Truthfully, a part of him felt that this man was too open, too brazen. He wasn't very different than Alistair himself, or Damien, or Ellasin -- but his speech was too forward, and his methods were too crystalline. How was this man not behind bars, or dead? And why did he have to speak so... primitively? Was that what it all came down to? Was that why Alistair was so perturbed by his presence?

He was primitive. He had all of this wealth, and he had influence -- and yet he spoke of this matter as if he were a man pulling aside some friends for a quick ale, speaking absently about some person he'd crossed on the street. But these were no small matters -- they were things of import. Interrogation, expedition, employment, a contract, and most of all a powerful magical artifact . . . this man was truly not prepared for what he pretended to know. Alistair latched onto his ambition, which reminded him of his own forebears, and then contrasted him with them -- Ellasin, Damien, Effren . . . and he did not match up.

Was the Jewel of Emea really something that he would only keep in his home as a trinket? A final treasure?

It took the influence of the Hound to calm Alistair down, since the mage was clearly beginning to fume, needlessly. The man concurred with his discomfort in the face of Crowley, and excused the two of them for a conversation. Ultimately, Patrick's goals aligned closely with his, and provided him the reason he was searching for when it came to pursuing this line. It wasn't about Crowley -- Alistair would take the jewel for himself when the opportunity came, without a single moral dilemma. And Patrick didn't seem to be thinking too differently.

It all came down to Ellasin, psycho-bitch as his lover called her. Yeah -- if he could have an ancient magical artifact, that could swing the pendulum far. Farther than far. Alistair was strong, now -- even stronger than he'd been when Patrick first left him in Rharne. He only needed to make a few leaps, and he wouldn't be far from challenging Sera ba Randil -- or Ellasin's -- authority.

The affectionate rubbing and the sweet words didn't hurt, either. Alistair's calm and rational part came out as a result of Patrick's romantic gestures, and with a smile on his lips and a faint blush, he nodded his head, allowing Patrick to take his hand and guide him down. "Okay... fine," he accepted defeat, shyly glancing at the Hound from beside him. Patrick was certainly correct, Alistair was just . . . stubborn about the situation. He had to admit, it likely had a lot to do with the fact that this man would be lording over them, where Alistair despised serving anyone's purposes but his own and those he ruled over. But this wasn't about pride. He'd have a lot more pride if he had a weapon that could kill Ellasin.

"You're right," he spoke up again, nodding, as Patrick brought him down. "Your hunches are never off. And neither is your sense of adventure," he whispered, a silly smile on his lips. "You have to admit, that's at least part of why you're so interested in all this. But I understand. I love the whole cave-plundering thing too -- please don't turn that into a joke -- and I thought it was really fun last time. Let's just be a bit critical of the information we receive from this . . . gentleman."

Being brought down, Alistair immediately focused his vision on Tresah, who was bound. Rolling his eyes, he looked to the wealthy man, and shrugged.

"Looks like you really are hoarding old, dank artifacts of civilization in your estate," he said, referring to Tres.

[Patrick]

Alistair's concern came with a moot point that Crowley was quite open with his business; the fact he showed such interest in his affairs with the jewel, well it certainly made him seem suspicious in terms of character. That however didn't excuse the fact that both Patrick and Alistair were onto something here, something big that could've likely resulted in a huge payload. If this gem or jewel actually existed then at best Pat would do what he could to exploit it for their gain, and then in turn garner the reward of wealth it could earn him afterwards of course.

That was of course if this jewel existed to say the least, and if it actually had any real power or wealth to it. Either way to discover the origins of a lost city? Now that itself was an archaeological goldmine itself. "Of course," He responded to Alistair with a coy smirk, "Exploring deep dark places is somethin' I've always found interestin'." Of course Patrick's amusement could've been interpreted as jokingly as Alistair pleased, but regardless of the the humor there came a sense of honesty within the tone. Their previous expenditure created a profound curiosity within him, an innate sense of adventure that longed to discover the unknown.

He felt alive in another sense when it came to exploring ruins and forgotten places, an unusual sensation he quickly grew fond of in the process of adventuring really. When they entered the basement and followed the older man down below, Treth had in fact awaited them in sweat and filth, a sort of natural grime had accumulated from being trapped down here for... days perhaps? There was no telling for sure, but it certainly looked as though he'd been held here against his will. Alistair made a comment that created a short laugh from Patrick, even Crowley had to chuckle in with the remark on Treth.

"What can I say, I collect things. Plus a little confinement works wonders if you ask me!" The man remarked with a shrug and smug grin, that of course died down when he looked back at Treth. "Now sir, would you be so kind as to fill my new partners in on what you've conned them out of?" His captor trembled within his chair with utter disgust, the scent of shit permeated the space around Treth as breathed frantically.

"It was a lady, Crowley! She made me an offer I couldn't refuse, if I helped her discover the location of the jewel; then I could share my research and more on Orimar! The plan was to have an escort to the burial ground, grab the chalice, and return it to her without question as to why."

"Go on." Crowley calmly insisted.

"With the chalice in her possession she had what she needed, I wasn't meant to ask any more questions afterwards; 'all would be made clear in time' was all she insisted." Treth muttered with frantic looks between the two men and his captor. "Please you've got to believe me! I don't know much of anything else!"

"Much." Crowley quoted as he took a step back and rested his hands on his hips. "You and I spent a lot of time together on this now, which is why I've been pretty generous with my hospitality really." Crowley looked to the two and then back down to Treth. "Of course with my new guests here it kind of makes me look like a hard ass, so I'm gonna level out with you and spare them the details on our past relationship. What say you help us out in getting back that chalice, hook us up with your new friend to see if we can't meet her even."

"I-I don't..." Treth sounded unsure if he could pull of such a thing.

"I'm cutting you slack Treth, not asking for the moon next season." Crowley argued with arms crossed.

"I know! I know! I can't promise anything, but if you can gimme until Cylus then I can arrange something." He issued out of desperation, hopeful his plea might be enough to persuade Crowley.

"Now that's what I like to hear! Whadd'ya say boys?" He mused with a snicker sent to Patrick and Alistair. "Think we trust our 'friend' here to pull through? Maybe even help us get the chalice back?"

Patrick took a moment to think about it, or at least appear considerate of the situation. The chances were they were letting loose a pet rat, but one that knew better than to cross Crowley again to say the least. Being left in captivity with naught to do but linger in your own filth, now that was certainly a way to gain information out of someone. "Aye," He finally muttered with a soft glance to Alistair, "I think he's learned his lesson. Odds are he'll be useful in helpin' us plan out how we'll do this gig, that is if we're gonna grab that chalice ourselves."

"So you're in then?" Crowley asked once more for reassurance, Patrick then looked to his lover to see whether Alistair wanted to follow through.

[Alistair]

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Was he in? The answer... was no. He wanted to join it for Patrick's sake, to prevent the man from being totally screwed over, but instead he decided that - for the best of both of them - it would be prudent if they pulled out instead. "Crowley, I simply don't trust you," the man said with a carefree shrug. Just like many of the other plebeian wanna-be nobles of the outside world, Alistair had deigned to turn this man down. He was just another ambitious twat seeking power where none existed. There was no Jewel of Emea, or if there was, it was not a font of incredible arcane might. The Coven would have already discovered it, otherwise.

Alistair shook his head. This had been interesting, but his ancient book with the dead, useless language was enough to suffice for him. If anything, he'd research Orimar on the side.

"Patrick, I recommend you avoid signing on. This man would never give us a fair share, and from his disposition I can imagine he finds us disposable entirely. Good day, Crowley, and please fail in your ambitions. That would be most suitable to the rest of the civilized world. Ta-ta."

With a sarcastic grin, the man waved and left the estate, eager to rid himself of any fairy tales alluding to this false Emean dream.