Raile had always considered himself an above-the-board kind of guy. In all of his transactions, he was honest, up front, and most of all fair. Despite all of this, the ever savvy merchant knew very well that if you needed something rare and hard to find, your best bet is to look in the black market. He had not traveled to Onnen for these rarities, though, and rather found himself walking into Basoga by mere chance.

Not that the rarity in question wasn’t worth it. But Raile had left his usual detail, a dragon of a bodyguard, back on Parvpora, and thus found himself wandering into a hive of villainy and debauchery with naught but his Goddess Cube, and a variety of potions and magical items kept within. While he was far from in fighting shape, he had a fair bit of trinkets to help him escape if it came down to it.

He sorely hoped it wouldn’t.

As Raile stepped off the boat and onto the ‘island’, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had never truly left the boat and it’s idle sway. While it was less than what he had endured during his travels to get here, there was a steady, constant ebb and flow to the makeshift island. Despite the weather, he shivered, and looked around. Someone was already eyeing him.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, and pulled his coat tighter around him. It wasn’t long before he found himself hurrying out of the docks, and into the streets. Or at least what constituted as streets. What seemed to be one of the main roads was a longer boat with an extended flat hull. There were a few makeshift shops on the sides of it, with shady merchants selling snake oils and other falsely advertised trinkets.

“Want to buy a Golem Heart?” One of the shady merchants asked as Raile walked by. He took one look at it, and scoffed. “You mean a pretty rock with a poorly carved rune? No thanks.” He continued walking despite the protests of the product’s quality. With his initial feelings of being watched, the merchant felt as though he needed to stick to the main pathways as best he could.

Might not save me if it came to it… He paused, stopping at a random stall. “Excuse me,” he said, toying with the hard shell of some long dead insect. “Would you happen to know where I can find a man by the name of Luriel?” The aforementioned man was a contact that Raile had recently met since his coming to Onnen, but he was questionable at best on his reliability. After all, it was only after Raile won a drunken gamble that the contact had mentioned this rare book. Information on Blood Magic was always something high in demand, and supposedly there was a tome with just that in circulation.

If it’s even the real deal. Raile got a half answer, and it was only after he paid coin for it. Feeling almost cheated, he made his way to the next barge, looking for a tavern of sorts. It was the last place he felt like going to, but he didn’t see much of an option. It wasn’t long before he was standing at the walkway to a particularly grungy looking boat. While the main mast seemed to be in good shape, the rest of it looked as though pieces had started to rot, and were cut out and replaced with chitinous shell and a variety of other haphazard materials. The smell was something between offensive and pleasing, as if an overpowering fragrance had been aired to cover up the rot and remnants of drunken brawls and worse.

“Fantastic,” Raile muttered aloud, simply waiting in front of the place. “Is this really the only tavern?” he asked to no one in particular. I’d really rather not….

"It is with great trepidation that I've paced up this grape vine, lad," Sebastian Black volunteered amicably to the ragged-though-suavely-dressed man sitting across from him in the dank, fetid tavern nestled in the heart of the Free Land. Fragrant smoke wafted out from his drawn up hood, and embers from the pipe he held seemed to flit up like dying fireflies to paint the strange hue of his autumn gaze. "If your lord is the sort to wantonly mire in the openly grotesque, I'm not one to judge," he reassured; though his words were, in fact, hollow. If the mystic found the purposes or terms of a job distasteful, he had no qualms about selling tomes to his connections in the mage academy or even going as far as destroying the volume if it were deemed too dangerous. The details were already smelling rather rank…and it wasn't the tavern or its occupants.

The contact bristled at Sebastian's words. Given the man's features and pock-marked complexion, he looked a touch like a rat, or some other rodent vermin when he scrunched his face up in disdain. Fitting, he thought, with no small amount of private amusement.
"Lord? I ain't no man's servant," the man, who chose to remain nameless to him spat, emitting an anxious high-pitched chortle moments after.
Squeaks. That will be his new name.

"Blood magic, like necromancy, tends to be frowned upon in most circles, Black. We're quite fortunate to've found someone so willing…"
Squeaks brushed a strand of greasy dull brown hair from his face, and then rummaged through his ill-fitting petticoat for a bit of parchment listing all of the leads and notes himself and company had acquired so far on the book. Sebastian took it from him graciously and skimmed the contents before pocketing it and leaning forward in his seat.

"Let's make this a little more interesting, shall we?" Sebastian intoned with a smirk.

He reached out with his mind to the heaviest object in his field of vision, a thick cast iron pan. Telekinetic energy waxed, waned, and then held steady. The pan idly lifted in the air as he waited for an opening among the few shuffling patrons about.

Before the man could respond to his statement, the pan hurtled across the tavern, striking him in the back of the head, which sent him forward, rebounding off the table with a sickening, albeit satisfying CRACK. It all happened so quickly, none present were the wiser….at least that was the hope. Squeaks attempted to stand, in shock, but quickly collapsed, as anticipated. Sebastian rose to cradle the unconscious man over his shoulder.
"Shhh, now. Tsk tsk. Looks as though you've had a bit too much to drink, sir. Let's get you some air."

With this, Sebastian hauled the man outside. Given the typical goings on of Basoga and this establishment in-particular, none so much as glanced their way.

Raile had been debating going in for quite some time. Pacing back and forth, he continued to try and get the gusto to march into the tavern, but every fiber of his being was revolted at the concept. For a time, he hoped someone would enter or exit so that he could ask about his contact, but it seemed as though what few patrons the run down building had, they were loyal to the vast amount of drink offered.

Or whatever other debauchery was happening behind closed doors. Still, as he was debating on his next course of action, Raile was quite fortunate to find two men shambling out of the tavern. From what the merchant could tell, one of them was flat out drunk, whilst the other seemed a tad more responsible, and was aiding his friend to find a more reputable place to crash. While he did feel a slight twinge of guilt in asking for a favor, he knew very well that this could be one of his few chances to void going in the questionable hive of drink and lust.

“Excuse me fine sir,” Raile said as he matched the pace of the patron. “You seem rather busy, but if I could have just a moment of your time, I am searching for a man about a book. His name is Luriel. You wouldn’t happen to know his location would you? I hear he likes to frequent this bar.” It seemed like a lot to ask, and to be honest, raile hardly expected an answer. As he awaited a response, he started to mentally steel himself for the inevitable tirade of drunken rage that usually accompanied asking patrons of these establishments.