The man looks up, his pale face looking pinched. White wisps of hair fail to cover his bald liver-spotted head, and Ashlion notes he is old, quite old. Formal gray robes, clean and neatly pressed, wrap around him.
"Do you have an appointment?" he snaps, watery eyes fixing on Ashlion for a moment.
The old man sneers, 'So you step off a leaky boat and try to just walk into a temple of knowledge, a citadel of intellect? Do you even know the value of these tomes, the labor and care involved in each and every one?! We do not save and record these for river-rats to dirty with unclean and callused hands."
The little speech seems to wear him out, and Ashlion can see him breathing hard as he picks up his quill, and get back to his work, dismissing the mindblade.
The little man topples over, his heavy chair clattering to the ground. With a whoosh of dust he hits the floor, sprawling behind the desk.
"Please...please have mercy." he croaks, choking on dust. His hand scrabbles for his quill and book before he slowly looks up, fear in his eyes.
"What do you want?" he asks shakily.
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Ashlion approaches, holding out his arm and Lisk turns to hop onto it, shrinking as he does so. The mental communication between the two most resembles a high five, although neither would call it anything so undignified.
"I would very much appreciate a chance to look through your archives." Ashlion replies, politely. "As my companion said I am very interested in the history of dragons and this city, with its first hand experience of them, seemed like an excellent place to study."
He leans down to offer the small man a hand up, forgetting that Lisk is still sitting on the same arm. The dragon bares his teeth at the little man.
"I will happily pay whatever customary fee is appropriate. I would also be happy to assist in any organisational endeavors if you would like my help. Although," and here his grin turns just a tiny bit savage, "my river rat hands may leave water marks on the books!"
The old man, still shaking, points a finger at a shelf of old scrolls in the corner.It looks well-kept but with that same sense of relentless decay and age.
'The history books are there...but most are gone.' Even as this distance Ashlion can see many of the books and scrolls are missing, dusty spots taking their place.
"Checked out..." the old man says.
'A...collector, a historian. He was quite keen on the subject, he was a stranger as well." he says this as though being a stranger is equivalent to a barbarian.
Ashlion notes most of the scrolls left are the useless folktales and such he had before.
The librarian, now a sniveling figure on the floor says, 'I..I can't give out names of other patrons. Our holdings are confidential...as well as any lent materials..."
Ashlion does seem the large tome on t e desk that plainly is used to track such transactions.
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Keep him there for a moment. Ashlion sends to Lisk, who promptly jumps down to the floor and begins prowling slowly towards the cowering man. Ashlion, once the man is distracted takes a sidestep and, out of the corner of his eye, begins scanning the visible page - using a subtle mage hand to turn the page if need be.
The book is old and well-used. Whatever lacks in these latter days, the bureaucracy is still vast. Entries for books and scrolls are all neatly noted, with dates and names attached.
Ashlion soon finds the dragon books, all checked out by one person. The name makes Ashlion's heart skip a beat. There, written in a tiny spidery hand is the name "Jeskartin"
Memories flood back into the mindblade's mind. A child laughing cruelly at him in the Temples, a teenager darkly scowling at Ashlion's achievements, a young man vowing vengeance on him...Jeskartin.
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It would be...
Ashlion thinks in a more resigned fashion than anything else. After all this time and all these adventures it could only be one person that would go to this kind of length to frustrate him...
Lisk - I need to know where Jeskartin is staying. See what he knows - but don't hurt him. Just scare him a little.
Ashlion leaves, calling over his shoulder. "My companion has a question for you. I suggest you tell him the truth."
It becomes apparent that the librarian knows nothing about where Jeskartin was living or why he was researching dragons. He does state it has been weeks since he took the books however, and the man hasn't been back.
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Damnit... Ashlion's thoughts and Lisk's are eerily similar - neither of them like Jeskartin much. Leaving the thoroughly unhelpful librarian to his books Ashlion begins walking aimlessly around the district, his glowering face getting him a wide berth from many people in the street.
So my greatest rival from the temple has come here, checked out all the books on dragons and not returned. He's either still in the city, with the books or he's left the city to follow up on some sort of lead... either way we need information.
Ashlion begins paying more attention to his surroundings, trying to find the best place to settle for a time and gather intelligence.
The city swirls around Ashlion, buildings rising on all sides. Nearly everyone is human, from the richest merchants parading past to the humble store owners. The only non-humans are obviously servants or slaves, following their betters.
Ashlion seems to be in a sort of temple district, and can see various spires and domes to all manner of gods surrounding him.
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Jeskartin would want to be able to attend that tavern... If he's still in the city those are the people that would know...
Ashlion takes a few minutes to neaten himself up with the aid of magic and enters the tavern. He purchases a drink and begins to chat around the room politely, inquiring after an old friend of his - a researcher who sent him a letter about some opportunities in the city.
The tavern is old, even inside. The floor is covered with the type of grime that never comes off, no matter how hard you clean it. Soot stains the ceiling and the windows have a yellow-ed tint.
The lace is full of wealthy merchants and successful artisans, all of whom would view a man like Ashlion as beneath them. It isn't easy blending in, but he manages.
After his third cup of flavored fermented milk (a local favorite), he hears about a man named Indra who might know something. He is pointed to a shadowy backroom of the tavern.
The air, already hot and full of jungle heat, becomes downright stifling as Ashlion enters the back-room. It is thick, wet and filled with the scents of incense and jasmine.
The mindblade enters the small room, and notes a few small magical lanterns making it quite bright.
A table takes up most of the room, splitting it in half. On the far side is a massive man, with rolls of fat, several chins, and thighs like hams. His large balding head gleams with sweat as he bends over some papers on the desk.
On either side of him are two scantily clad woman, handing him either more papers, wine or plates of greasy looking food. One gives Ashlion a wink but otherwise no reaction.
After a long moment, the fat man looks up, "Ah, a patron? A man desperate for knowledge?" Ashlion notes his eyes are large and very, very blue . "No, a fighter, looking for prey."
"Well, Indra can help...assuming you can pay?" He waves a hand at Ashlion's side of the table where a very uncomfortable spindly chair sits. "It is not free to sit in that chair."
Indra's eyes sharpen, and he raises a fat hand. Ashlion notes one of the women actually gasps, raising a delicate (and manicured) hand to her lips.
Pointing a chubby finger at the mindblade, Indra says, "You are not from our city, so I will forgive this rudeness, but do not do it again."
A short pause then, "Only those who sit int he chair get answers. To sit, you must pay be 50 gold coins. There will then be a fee to hear your plight and give you the answers you seek."
Indra voice trails after him, soft but menacing, "You'll regret that, outlander."
Ashlion finds himself in the increasingly more crowded common room.
In his mind Ashlion can hear Lisk agreeing with his actions,a show of strength always goes over well with his friend.
After asking around a bit more, Ashlion does find out that most human visitors to the city stay in the Green Quarter, just off the docks. The area is full of taverns, hostels and rentable dwellings.
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No more than I'd regret any more time in your company.
Eventually persistence pays off and he finally has a location, of sorts. Well Lisk, time to 'pound the pavement'.
After Ashlions adventures, he is dusty, dirty and far hairier than he was when he first left the Grand Temple. Satisfied that he doesn't need a more elaborate disguise Ashlion heads to the Green Quarter and begins asking around for his employer, a well spoken man from the south. He does his best impression of a slightly dim bodyguard, who managed to misunderstand or forget the instructions for how to return to his appointed meeting place.
The city is large and Ashlion has to ask directions twice to find the Green Quarter. When he does, it at least is a pleasant area, just off the river. Heavily planted, trees and small gardens abound, giving off the sweet, overipe smells of the jungle.
The job again is large. Fine taverns, elegant inns, cheap hostels, dirty tenements, all must be checked. Ashlion has no idea what Jeskartin's standard of living is right now, which widens the field.
It takes many hours but finally, after leaving the dingy lobby of a sweltering tenement, a small mousy man comes up to him, dressed in threadbare brown robes and barefoot.
"Hello? Are you...are you the one looking for Jeskartin, the outlander?" His voice is a bit tentative, careful.
"Of course, of course." The man wavers then adds, "So you wouldn't have the money to pay his debts?"
He leads Ashlion across the street to a nasty looking tenement and points to a rickety backstairs. 'Up there, sir."
The alley is dirty, grimy, filled with trash and old water. The stairs are rough, unpainted wood, weathered and warped.
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Ashlion simply smiles a slightly vacant smile and follows the man. The sight of the tenement however fills him with suspicion. Jeskartin would never stay somewhere like this if he had any choice in the matter Lisk. This could well be a snare, set by that lump of lard or by Jeskartin himself.
Waving jauntily to the man Ashlion begins to climb the stairs. The moment the man is out of sight he stops, summons his trusty blade and cloaks himself in light bending magic. Lisk, seeing him disappear, does the same and they move cautiously onwards.
Ashlion vanishes from sight, Lisk doing the same. Carefully the ascend the rickety stairs, a few times just avoiding a crumbling step. The mindblade hears and sees no other people, or any sign of danger.
At the top lies a cheap door, closed and latched tightly. A sign on the door says Do not Disturb, in fresh paint.
The mindblade opens the door, using his magic. It creaks open, the thin door buffeted by a light breeze.
Nothing happens as the door remains open, revealing a small apartment. There are signs of recent habitation, food on the table, a few papers on a chair. Ashlion can't se the entire room, but from where he stands, he sees no one.
Ashlion steps across the doorway to get a better view. As he does so, the wooden boards under his feet squeak slightly.
'He's there!" A female voice says. There is also a masculine roar and Ashlion can hear furniture being knocked aside. For a second he catches a glimpse of a large muscular man heading toward him, sharp kukri in hand. Wild black hair streams out as he rushes out to the landing, muscles seeming to grow as he sprints.
Behind him, is a athletic looking woman, wearing tight clothes usually reserved for thieves and rogues. Her long dark hair is tied back.
Ashlion rushes forward, slamming into the man hard. Somehow, the man manages to keep his feet however, some sixth sense allowing him to stay balanced. Still running he plows into Ashlion, overrunning him.
Ashlion is too canny and manages to prevent that, and both of them falling, locked together, onto the now greasy landing. thrashing and struggling on the tiny space, they fight for footing.
The thug manages to get the upper hand and Ashlion is half thrown, have slid, down the stairs, covered in grease.
Ashlion lies halfway down the stairs, the thug (also prone and grease covered) above him at the top of the landing.
He spots the woman lean out, looking first at the fallen man and then down the stairs. "What the hells was that?