The rain had grown steadily heavier as the evening progressed into night and the night grew late. It was loud against the roof of the Black Dove, definitely audible above the rowdy crowd. The tenth house was growing old, but the bawdy drinking songs were just beginning, spilling with slurred emphasis from the myriad of Harbor folk enjoying their inebriated night out.

Corwynn was settled comfortably into his favorite booth toward the back of the tavern, expensive shoes carelessly on the tabletop, right arm over the back of his chair, fingers listless on the butt of his pistol while he waited for his third drink of the evening. It'd been an unexpectedly terrible day; one the blond galdor hoped not to have to repeat for a clocking long time. Getting shot twice in one week was not a particularly favorable circumstance, and if the gunman didn't have any further business for the evening, he would've been just as drunk as the confused crowd closest to the bar.

As it was, however, he had yet another busy schedule. Hopefully, his expected guests and potential hireling would arrive shortly so he could get on with the drinking sooner rather than later. Something going as planned for the night would be a welcome change, after all.

Brogan entered the thick warmth of the Black Dove and shook the rain off his clothes and hair. He enjoyed rain and rarely wore anything to shield himself from it. Despite his many ailments, rain always made him feel clean, refreshed, and focused.

The Dove was its usually noisy self and was fairly busy for as late as it was. Brogan quickly spotted the golden hair of his associate through the press of drunken lowlifes and sailors. Though meeting with a galdori made his stomach turn, this particular Brother was of great interest to him. His father had made master crafted firearms of which he had not yet been able to acquire. It would be interesting speaking with someone with a fanatical love of firearms to match his own.

Brogan shoved, elbowed, and kicked his way through the rowdy crowd and stomped up to the table. He plopped down in the booth opposite Corwynn and grinned.

"How's things brother?" Brogan sneered. The look and attitude of his companion was eating away at his civility and patience already.

"Things could be better on several fronts, I'd say, but it's not really my style to complain." The blond gunman answered with a thin hint of a smile forming in the weathered lines of his aristocratic features. He paused to study the red-haired wick, who was apparently a rather experienced rogue, not bothering to remove his expensive, fashionable shoes from the tabletop. His right hand strayed from his unusual weapon at his hip to the sun-touched curls of his head, impatient for another drink,

"You're shaping into quite the middle man, I hear." Corwynn chuckled, blue eyes devious and taunting, "But I'm sure that's not why you came to the Harbor, given your history. No one wants to be stuck in the middle forever."

The older galdor's grin broadened at this, arching one blond eyebrow, "No one with ambition, that is."

Brogan's smile vanished. He didn't enjoy being taunted in any form to any degree. He'd killed more important men for much less. "Don't see myself as a middle man, blondie. I'm just earning trust and buildin up my reputation in the harbor. Mr. Hawke saw my worth when we first met, once I stop up this Drain, I won't be running errands no more."



"I didn't come here to be a lackey and I don't plan to be one if that's what your trying to cook up here. You got something to say, you best be out with it. Got a taste for galdori blood out on the highways, you wouldn't be the first noble dandy's hide I've added to my vest." Brogan continued as he leaned back.

His cold grin returned as he spread his vest displaying his shootas. He knew it wasn't frightening the famed gunsmith but just the display proved he was equally unafraid.

The galdor practically cackled as Brogan bristled, holding up his scarred, four-fingered left hand for emphasis, hints of his wrist tattoos just barely visible beneath the well-pressed cuff of his shirt. He let his gaze shift to the wick's weapons, lingering with a critical eye before meeting the man's gaze again, "What little nobility I claim to have belongs to Silas, Mister Rand. I'm hardly here to insult you. On the contrary—"

Corwynn paused as his third glass of wine arrived, offering the waitress a sly smile in exchange. He returned his right hand to his own pistol, crossing his feet on the table top and narrowing his eyes at the wick across from him. Speaking over the rim of his drink, he added,

"I have no doubt the King saw your worth, considering how well your name preceded you into the Harbor. I'm not above doing a little homework on my employees, either." The blond gunman tilted his head in a subtle shrug, "It's a waste of your talents to keep you an errand boy when there is, as you say, a Drain to be plugged." He grinned with a weathered wickedness, "I have a feeling you'll have no trouble clogging their flow with corpses ... once there's names to chase that is."

"Hesta, m'brunnos!" A voice like cheap silk and chocolate caressed the ears of the men, and with sudden, mystifying alacrity Mirella emerged from the dissolving shadows, grin already spread across her pink lips. In her hands were two fresh glasses of Bartender's Special; she knew it was good by the way it made her eyes water, and she'd downed hers already behind the bar.

Now she slunk over to the two men, eyes sparlking ferally, and leaned over the table to serve them the drinks, with a deliberate wriggle. "Ooo, there's always names t'be chasin' in th'harbor, kovs. Some'r easier t'find than others." Tossing her hair over her shoulder coquettishly, she sank down to a free chair; she would have sat on Corwynn's lap but there was fresh meat and she didn't know how the golly-man wanted to deal with him.

She knew how she would, though. Mmm.

Draping herself over the table, she leaned delicately on one hand and surveyed the new recruit. He looked... mean, for lack of a better term. She knew a man like him wouldn't be welcome in classy establishments where the ladies were as fearful as a flock of pigeons and men weak willed. Mirella enjoyed all kinds, but so soon after a golly she had a hunger for something with a little more bite. The skulls on his arms were like catnip; she wanted to know about them, wanted her taste.

Licking her lips indiscreetly, she turned to look at Corwynn and mouthed I think I like this 'un.

A few seconds passed as Brogan studied the galdori, the more he talked the more he made sense. "It sounds like we're on the same page here brunno. This mean you got some info on those laoso bastards?" Brogan replied, his grin widening. He could feel the rush of adrenaline that preceded a kill. If this Brother had names then Brogan had blood to spill.



Brogan glanced up and accepted the drink. "Hesta love." He hadn't been expecting female company and in his bloody mood it was all the more welcome.



"Vrunta, that's the truth. Ent a loosed tongue in Old Rose, even them's I've loosened led nowheres." Brogan cursed as he took advantage of the view as Mirella served the drinks and then sat in the empty chair. It wasn't that the woman was sexuality incarnate that drew his attention, though it didn't hurt, it was the essence of lethality she exuded. He'd heard of this "Alioleander" and had greatly anticipated a meeting. She didn't disappoint.

"Quite a dangerous little trio we make, there a scheme brewing ol Brogan ent aware of?"

The blond galdor's grin had broadened at Mirella's approach, causing him to shift his attention from Brogan and drift over the Henchwitch with unconcealed deviousness. Corwynn chuckled as the young woman wordlessly expressed her approval of the surly wick at his table, resisting the urge to roll his eyes with the subtle understanding that he was certainly now intimately acquainted with what she was capable of. His was apparently not the only appetite that was difficult to satisfy here in the Harbor.

"Dangerous indeed," the gunman practically purred, reluctantly returning his gaze to Brogan instead of lingering thoughtfully on the witch, "and as long as I'm still breathing in the Harbor, there's most likely to always be something of a scheme brewing somewhere."

His left hand strayed to his chin, weathered age lines of his face relaxing as his grin faded into something more serious, "I believe Miri's sisters have finally managed to bleed some names out of a few tight lips, but I'll admit the hunt is just beginning." Corwynn exhaled through his teeth, impatience about the subject as obvious in his tone of voice as the weight of his field, "As much as I'd like to see more heads in the post, I have a feeling our next steps will have to be a bit less fatal—"

The galdor arched a sun-touched eyebrow, taunting again, "—you're capable of taking folks alive, right, Mister Rand?"

Eliysse sat at the far end of the bar, nursing her bashelm cream. It was really lonely now...now he was gone. And the Chroven were like headless chickens, beside themselves without a go-to man. Running her black gloved finger around the rim of the glass, she stared into nothing, thinking. What should she do? Going back to Vienda or Brunnhold was definitely not an option. She would be arrested on the spot. Then again, what was the point in staying in the Rose?

Sighing quietly, she lifted the glass and took a deep sip of the slightly sweet milky liquor. Perhaps becoming inebriated would solve things, temporarily.

Brogan blew out a breath in disgust. "I can do anything that is required, I'm not exactly new to this sort of thing. Live prisoners can be just as much fun as dead enemies."

Brogan began fidgeting and his hands began to shake. He shot a quick look at his two companions under his deep brows as if to dare them to comment. He then slid one of his pistols out of the holster and began dismantling it, the shaking ceased almost immediately.

"Bout time you got on with yer intentions on bringing us here Wynngate. All this sittin round is bad for my ails." Brogan croaked. He had produced a rag from inside his vest and was cleaning his shoota as he talked.

She smirked. So, he really was a baddy. He knew of the Poison and not the flower. Well, if he was lucky he'd only ever see the sweets, as the sours weren't something one merely walked away from. She looked at him with what he expected to see; bloodthirsty eyes, catlike grin. Still, it was more fun to live and let live for information gathering. A dead contact is one who'll not share anything anymore. Assassinations were a different breed of cat altogether, concise and cool. With her beatas, however... well, a brutal kill is more fun when shared. She wondered if Brogan felt the same.

Smiling at the wick's impatience, she curled a thick wavy coil of hair about her fingers and looked to Corwynn. "Well, luv, th'gels an' me got a bit. I'll give ye th'rest later, but lemme tell ye. No one likes talkin' bout what they don't know. So." She leaned forward and stole a sip from the galdor's drink, "I'm makin' a special trip fer ye soon. Mystery don't sit well wiv me, an' I know just the place fer a history like yer prey's."

With a sudden giggle, she looked over one caramel shoulder to glance at Brogan. "An' as fer intentions, brunno, I've got plenty." She hated to rush things, after all. Her eyes alighted on the guns, and her smile broadened. Ooh how she loved a man who knew how to use his 'shoota' right.

Corwynn made a chiding noise through his white teeth, having briefly glanced away to notice another, familiar golly in the bar. He'd meant to follow up on their meeting, but had found his dance card a bit too full as of late for new business. Instead of meeting Brogan or Mirella's gaze, however, the blond gunman found himself studying the surly wick's weapon with a critical eye. His aristocratic features settled into a smug kind of scowl as he spoke to the Henchwitch first, not looking up,

"Have a taste for some desert wind on that lovely smooth skin of yours, do you?" His tone was suggestive but surprised, "Your extra efforts on my part won't go unrewarded. I look forward to the results of your investigations with renewed eagerness."

Shifting in his seat, the galdor finally slid his feet from the table top and leaned forward, elbows where his legs had been, cradling his chin against his uneven number of fingers as he laced them together, still watching Brogan's weapon,

"I've got quite a tall order for you, Mister Rand—"

Corwynn squinted at the gun as he let his words catch in his throat, thoughts of business suddenly derailed by a different kind of obsession. Haughty indigence crept into his expression as his blue eyes hardened, "Oh gods, who's mark is that on there? How can you stand using such clocking half-assed craftsmanship?"

In a split second the half assembled pistol was whole, cocked, and pointed at Corwynn's head. Brogan's eyes were wide with anger. "She'll put a hole in you sure as sure kov."

The offended weapon happened to be Brogan's prized pistol. He'd murdered a very prestigious golly's entire household for it. He had paid for her in blood and no one would talk ill of her.

"You get on with yer little plan and don't lay another eye on my pistol or I'll cott you where you sit. Brother or no Brother."

Brogan slowly lowered his gun and layed it on the table but his hand didn't stray far.

"Get on with it goldie."

Eliysse sipped the liquor, glancing around the Dove. A familiar golden head caught her eyes and she chuckled to herself.

Corwynn.

The man was everywhere! It was like she was destined to be haunted by his roguishly interesting face everywhere she went. Turning to inspect the man as he spoke to his fellow drinkers, she looked around his person for his pistols, wanting to get a closer and less hurried look at the craftsmanship of the guns.

It happened so fast the galdor almost missed it. One moment, Corwynn's companion had a half assembled gun, next it was fully cocked, loaded and pointed at the blonde's head.



She wasn't really sure why she did it. Companionship between enemies? Mutual interest in gun smithing? Aching need for conversation and distraction? Boredom? Either way, Eliysse found herself behind the armed man, both her silver and gold pistols pulled out and pointed at the man's head, field drawn in tightly. Even as the shoddy crafted pistol was placed back on the table, she kept her guns where they were. The man hadn't even noticed she was there.



Eliysse glanced at Corwynn with a raised eyebrow.

"Quite the party you throw, Corwynn. Your guests seem quite eager to shoot you."

((I have no idea how this got so long, but I apologize. I have been away ... and apparently had a lot of time to think about this post.))

Corwynn kept a straight face, unattached and almost disinterested, drinking his wine and watching Brogan threaten him with his gun. He didn't even blink when the poor excuse for good craftsmanship, obviously bought with some stupidly large sum of money by uneducated Viendan gollies who thought it was worth the price, was leveled for his brainbox. Instead, the blond sighed. He set his drink down while the surly wick was talking, field tightening like a sail catching the wind, taut and angry. His other hand moved quickly, and he was muttering. Then, he was out of his seat and sliding over the table, field surging forward like the tide washing in with Brogan as the shore. The blond galdor didn't even look up as Eliysse approached, though she was perhaps the only one who recognized the final stanza of Rigor as the older man practically snarled the spell.

Brogan felt the dark wave of Corwynn's field before the spell took effect. As the mona seemed to reluctantly comply with the casting, a cold stiffness tugged at the surface of his skin, then even the muscles grew sluggish and tight. With a painful ache, the former highwayman found he couldn't move at all. The spell was short-lived, but it didn't seem like the blond was particularly concerned.

The gunman perched himself almost childishly on the tabletop, one foot resting coyly on Mirella's seat, the other on the bottom rung of Brogan's chair. He'd lifted the man's pistol in his left hand, drawing his own with remarkable swiftness with his right. He wasn't smiling, but his blue eyes softened with a bit of amusement once his mind managed to register the young galdor woman's words. He did not ask her to remove her weapons ... for the moment, it was entertaining enough.

"Oh gods, of course I'm the clocking life of the party. Thank you for noticing ... Shoot me or sleep with me, yes, both are a long list, to be sure." He finally laughed, "Though, I'll admit I prefer the latter to the former."

Leaning toward the now-immobilized wick, Corwynn's expression became stern. He shoved the butts of both pistols directly into Brogan's line of sight, revealing the two hand-stamped crests of workmanship. One mark was obviously a poor, half-assed imitation of the other.

"I don't care who's clocking dead body you managed to steal this insulting piece of work off of, but if you're going to do any work for me at all, you won't be using it. You should be thankful you have all your fingers with something as bleeding ugly as this weapon. If you want a real gun, you ask for one proper and I'll happily oblige free of charge, given we're family of sorts. I don't want to see this offensive thing pointed at my head—or any weapon, for that matter—again. Unless you're looking to get fired, which would be most unfortunate. I still have much use for you in these exciting times we find ourselves in."

The blond galdor had been caught up in a clocking hard week. He was obviously seething with more than Brogan's threat or weapon as an issue. He'd just let the wick be a catalyst. Corwynn deposited the pistol in Brogan's lap, leaning back on his left palm with his own weapon still drawn,

"Now that my requirements are out of the way, do you still want to hear about the terms of your employment, Mister Rand?"

Brogan stared down at his favorite pistol, it had been tainted by the gunsmith's words, it appeared ugly and awkward compared to the work of art Corwynn held.

"You give me a set of those and I will follow you through the Otherworld Mr. Corwynn. You've opened my eyes, this worthless hunk of piss is a blight on my skill as a gunman." Brogan muttered as he felt the effects of the spell loosing its hold.

"What's your plan brother? I'll see it through to its bloody end."

"That's a good man."

Corwynn purred with mock-affection, patting the surly wick on the cheek with his left hand with an almost flirtatious flair, knowing full well his spell would be fading soon enough, "We'll get you outfitted like a proper Brother soon enough." The older galdor paused to offer Mirella a sly grin, as if the word outfitted or proper carried a different connotation than was perhaps intended or at least carried some kind of inside joke, "No doubt about that. Hmm?"

Then, his right hand moved quickly, raising his pistol toward Eliysse's face, perched as the young woman was behind Brogan. The blond gunman let his grin broaden into something wry, but his voice still carried his typical suggestive tone, "As much as I'm flattered by your attractively daring rescue, dear Eliysse, you make it difficult for me to discuss business with my conspirators here. My condolences, of course, but I'm hardly the right man to serve as a shoulder to cry on. I prefer to offer other forms of comfort."

Corwynn arched a sun-touched eyebrow, weathered lines of his face coming together in the barest hint of a taunting pout. He paused, questioningly, though it seemed impossible for him to be entirely serious, "Unless you're up for hire all the sudden?"

((Sorry for suddenly finding myself stupidly wordy ... I figured I'd connect the dots a bit here. Forgive me if it's a bit for Mel and Sho to catch up on. Apologies! You can do it! ))

Eliysse smirked at the man, eyes running over the pistol aimed at her head. She didn't appear worried or threatened, more so fascinated by the gun. Her yellow-brown eyes took in the intricately designed, expensive and well made flintlock with the sort of admiration other galdori gave to fine art. Lifting her guns from Brogan's head, amused by the rigor spell Corwynn had cast, the red head tilted her head slightly in indifference as she put them back in their holsters, resting her hands on the butts of the guns.

"I hardly need a sympathetic ear, my dear sir. My husband may be deceased, but I've already dealt with that. No, it seems I find myself surrounded by deserters and in all honestly, rather bored." Sighing almost dramatically, she glanced around at the gathering of people.

"I believe that, yes, I am up for hire as you say." Lifting her hands from the pistols, she held them in a sort of placating way, drawing in her field and pushing a quick pulse at the man. It was her way of showing him what she had to offer, no threat perceivable in it.

"I know all about your skill with your guns, Corwynn, but I believe I can show you some things you will rather appreciate." The woman referred to the spells she had modified and worked on illegally in conjunction with her pistols. Powerful spells that turned a simple bullet into something so much more. Shrugging, she smiled politely.

"I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine and all that."

Mirella noticed the golly-girl a bit ago, however hadn't felt the need to give her any more attention than that. Now that she was joining the table, Mirella's expression went from openly seductive to a more closed grin, still alluring but wary as well. She was used to her beatas, however the henchwitch was far more comfortable with males as associates than women. Especially jents like the girl, here.

Oh she knew about her in passing. She knew something about everyone. However, just because she'd followed her heart out to the dusty rose didn't make her any less of a nuisance. Even the spell cast on Brgan bothered her less than the golly-girl's arrival; Corwynn was the devil-you-know, and if he'd been less surly, Brogan wouldn't have gotten a taste of it. As Eliysse flexed her field, Mirella tossed her hair, already bored.

"Oes, I'll be shippin' out in a week er so, an' ye'll have all the benny dob ye could ask fer." She stole some of Brogan's drink, think it only fair since she'd already nabbed from Corwynn. Turning her gaze back on the golly, she watched how he was going to handle the situation. Fresh blood and new men were desperately needed, since anyone could be a double agent for the Drain, but a golly... well. Her catlike eyes flashed as she smirked.

Two for the price of one wasn't bad. She was sure, too, that she was going to have a lot of 'research' to do before she left.

The blond galdor laughed, sliding off his perch on the top of their table with a casual toss of his curls, returning his pistol to his hip with no small amount of dexterous flair, "Show me a thing or two, will you? ... I'd like to see that, actually." His grin was nothing short of lascivious, blue eyes as warm and suggestive as the tone of his voice, "Then again, if that's what you have in mind, I'm never one to stop at back-scratching ..."

Corwynn let his implication hang in the air as he slid back into his seat, kicking out a chair for Eliysse before returning his feet to the tabletop. Leaning back, the gunman ran a hand over his chin and slowly returned his attention to business,

"I'll be honest, the business plan for the evening is for our former highwayman here, unfortunately." He offered a sarcastically apologetic expression with a nod of his head at Brogan, "And lovely Mirella is giving me some much-appreciated assistance on a more personal matter, you could say. However, I'm not opposed to some unconventional assistance. I think the matter at hand could find some use for those outside the assumed Brother-ly jurisdiction, but I've been known to think outside the box to my detriment on occasions."

The older man chuckled at this, shrugging and looking to Brogan, "There's a ship coming in next week. I want the captain—and only the captain—alive and capable of answering some questions ... We can discuss details when not in such distracting company, hmm?" Corwynn let his smile turn wry, "I have no worries about your abilities to handle the finer details ... though it seems we'd best get you better armed before my old friend comes to shore."

Brogan watched as the new female made her way from behind him. A quick mental note dropped her squarely on his grudge list. A dangerous place to be. The only reason his host wasn't near the top was his offer of fine firearms. Nobody threatened his life and got off easy.

"Now you're talking my language. I'll have a few questions once we're free to talk details. As well as a list of weapons and supplies. And by 'Only the Captain alive,' I assume the crew is expendable." Brogan rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"I need another drink; I can't be drinking after anybody, no matter how tasty she may be, my immune system is dangerously over tasked as it is." He exclaimed after seeing Mirella steal sips from his cup. "Barkeep! Fresh cup of yer house brew!"

Eliysse took the seat, back straight and every bit the galdor that she was. Pulling up the black of her gloves, the woman raised an eyebrow as Corwynn spoke.

"I don't believe you and I are speaking of the same sort of assistance, Corwynn. Whilst I find your innuendo flattering, I'm a one wick woman." Leaning back, the woman crossed her legs, resting an elbow on the back of the chair.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I have sole access to the once 'fierce' armory of The Chroven. There are guns and ammunition there, not exactly finery, but decent all the same. A lot of swords and various blades, you know, the usual stocks." She waved a hand dismissively.

"Last time I checked," hummed the blond gunman with a well-practiced, almost insensitive suggestiveness, "your one wick isn't coming back to shore. I think that's left your options rather open, especially when it comes to consolation, but far be it from me to take advantage of someone still mourning their losses. I'm just as capable of being patient when it's worthwhile."

Corwynn grinned, shrugging, "I don't think armaments are an issue for us, considering we have plenty of talented employees and a few skilled connections. However, your current lack of association with the Brothers until today is much more useful than anything you might have locked away in a storehouse."

The older galdor said nothing else about Eliysse's offer for the moment, no small air of mischievousness about him as he finished off his wine in the silence. Then his blue eyes slid away from the woman, lingering briefly over Mirella until falling back to Brogan,

"Yes, I only want the captain. The crew is completely expendable."

As Corwynn finished speaking, Brogan was served his drink by a less than enthusiastic bar maid. It'd been a rough night, apparently, and she hardly offered anyone at the table a smile before disappearing again.