***
For meeting his new neighbors, Nerath had assumed an ostensibly male but suitably gender-neutral attire. His public appearance in the last two centuries was less wedded to any specific gender than the public had known Shemeska to appear, but the similarities in style were there at times, unconscious as they were.
The arcanaloth yawned and adjusted a ring upon his left hand, and at the same time slightly adjusted the color of the gloss upon his claws. The claws were painted -not magically glimmered- a shade of black with subtle, iridescent crimson highlights, and his lips were painted a similar shade of black. His ears were decorated with almost a dozen earrings, half of them simple but ensorcelled bands -effectively static ioun stones- while the others bore jewels of such clarity and rarity that they could have been the dowry of a mortal princess. However it was the emerald stud labret piercing below his lower lip, and the platinum ring in his nose with its attendant chain that reached up to his left ear that attracted the most attention due to their sheer ostentatious presence.
The fiend was dressed in a blue-black corset cut for a lithe but muscled male figure, and below that a number of long lengths of dark colored velvet and satin to match, fastened with a belt of strung jewels and platinum beads, trimmed in silver, and trailing the floor a few inches in the back while cut a bit higher in the front to let the fiend’s slippered feet show.
Nerath spread his arms, bare from the shoulders except for a pair of golden bands on one arms and the rings upon his fingers, and gestured for the door to be opened.
“Please do come in!”
There was a pause as his guests shuffled in, a rather pregnant pause as they caught their first glimpse of the jackal-headed King of the Crosstrade.
Nerath the Marauder greeted them with a smile and piercing violet eyes, keenly watching the look of surprise that crossed over their faces. They weren’t expecting him to be dressed as he was. Perhaps they were expecting some wizard’s robe clad sorcerer, or a snarling, drooling fiend with a jackal’s head, trailing ash at his feet and smelling of sulfur. Velkyn was the least surprised by his attire, something that wasn’t surprising since his father and the fiend worked together, and he’d heard quite a bit about the King of the Crosstrade. Phaedra almost stumbled, and before she reigned in the emotion crossing her face, she looked galled by Nerath’s attire for such a formal function; the ear-to-nose chain seemed to put her off the most. The other mortals, Inva aside, were the most surprised, both because it was their first time meeting a greater yugoloth, and because of his blurring of the quaint gender role dichotomy they so clung to. The tiefling seemed to have the opposite reaction though, looking at his lithe physique and letting her eyes briefly wander over his mostly exposed upper body.
“I’m glad that you could all make it tonight.” Nerath said as he stepped forward to greet them.
His movements were fluid and confident, and as he stepped closer amid a rustle of velvet and deft ripple of lean muscle under his short coat of impeccably groomed tan and chocolate fur, he seemed to exude a self of power and confidence, and to some of them, a raw and dangerous sexuality. The contrast of dark velvet and platinum that dressed the fiend, both hallmarks of wealth and luxury that graced the flesh and glistening fur of a physical manifestation of misery and selfishness, were only a few of the fiend’s juxtapositions. There was the smile of a nobleman and the glinting fangs of a fiend that were just as evenly suited for impressing the gilded courts of Sigil’s golden lords as they were for tearing open the throat of a rival. There was also the style of dress in and of itself.
Nerath was male –at least he was at the moment as far as anyone could openly tell- but the clothing was relatively androgynous. To some it was unbalancing and disturbing, which was a feeling the fiend could use and manipulate, and to others it was exotic and enticing, something that could be just as dangerous.
The ‘loth’s eyes darted from guest to guest, judging and appraising each of them, taking in appearance, dress, their reaction to him, and their level of poise and social comfort. Each of those qualities held an intrinsic value so far as the fiend was concerned. Each of those values put a price tag on their services, a suggestion of how easy they might be to corrupt, blackmail, or simply use without them knowing it, and of course on a fickle and purely self-serving level, their presence as eye-candy or not was immediately obvious and some of them were well aware of that and had dressed to serve.
“Inva Ebonblade…” The ‘loth said, almost as if he were tasting the name like a sip of fine wine. “You have a prestigious resume, so to speak. In fact it’s fascinating where your name pops up, and when. All good things of course.”
Inva nodded respectfully and stepped forward, “Likewise your majesty.”
Nerath smiled and extended his hand for the tiefling to kiss, which she did for a protracted moment, and then the fiend took hold of one of hers in turn, lifted her up from her half-bow of courtesy and proceeded to place a kiss on her palm.
“I approve.” The fiend said, as he released the tiefling’s hand, but only after lingering with his lips to her flesh only a moment longer than simple protocol might have made appropriate. Their eyes never left one another, and that said more than enough.
Phaedra felt a rush of jealously, and it peaked as she sensed something telepathic dart from the ‘loth’s mind a fraction of a second before Inva deeply blushed. Something had been said, and she could only guess what it might have been.
“Pleased to meet you.” Phaedra said as she stepped forward, half to introduce herself next, and half to interrupt any further open flirtation between the King of the Crosstrade and her would-be girlfriend.
Again Nerath smiled a mouthful of fangs and extended his hand. Phaedra took it and kissed it, but only reluctantly, and a moment later when the fiend took her hand for the same pseudo-seductive display that he’d given Inva, she felt uncomfortable rather than excited, and in her case, that might have been the point.
Perhaps Nerath hadn’t really noticed anything above her cleavage before that point, and her was certainly giving that a look when he kissed her hand, but as he relinquished her fingers from his lips, he took note of what she was wearing.
By the three f*cking Glooms!!! How in the name of the General of Gehenna did you get that dress?!
The fiend’s pupils momentarily constricted and focused, darting to the seams of the dress, looking at the pattern of the glass beads, looking at the minute marks of wear it had received over the course of the centuries, and it all led to one conclusion: it was legitimate.
“You look lovely this evening my dear.” He said, not betraying anything in the tone of his voice, but showing it clearly in his eyes, and Phaedra caught the look. “That dress fits you perfectly.”
And. It. Is. MINE. Where in all the lower planes did you find it you little half-breed piece of sh*t?!
The metaphorical clockwork in the fiend’s head ground to a halt with one conclusion and a barely repressed snarl of contempt, loathing, and a surprising amount of respect.
A’kin you smiling son of a b*tch… you’ve had that gown for the last hundred and sixty years haven’t you? It belongs to me. ME. Enjoy this moment you *ss, enjoy it vicariously because I know you are. Not only do you send your daughter here like poisoned low-hanging fruit that I can only look at but not do anything more with, but she arrives dressed in –that- dress. That dress belongs to me you guardinal fu*cker
“Why thank you.” Phaedra said, feeling a bit uncomfortable under the fiend’s leer till she held up her gift.
Nerath held out a hand for the small box and looked at it curiously.
“I hope you like it.” Phaedra said, taking the moment to step back from where he’d drawn uncomfortably close.
I have a deep appreciation for unwrapping pretty little things to get to what’s inside yes. But due to your father, you’re unfortunately rather off limits. For shame.
The fiend unwrapped the crystalline flower and smiled. “I certainly do. It’s much appreciated. You seem to have a taste for the exquisite.”
Phaedra smiled and it seemed that he’d recognized it for what it was, and had indeed approved of its rarity. He held it up to the light and then telekinetically pulled out a chair at the table for her, one immediately to the right of his own. He was going to be paying particular attention to her the entire evening it seemed.
He escorted her to the table, and then turned to look at Velkyn.
“Jarleth’s son.” Nerath extended a hand which the half-drow promptly ignored as he gave a bow. The fiend wasn’t going to do anything over that slight, but it was still giving him the same appraising look as it had Inva and Phaedra which was both flattering, unexpected, and… well Velkyn wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it.
“Velkyn de Silvestra de Cadogwg.” He said, “Pleased to finally meet in person. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
Again with the poisoned low-hanging fruit and parents who wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill me… a shame
“No doubt.” Nerath said with a self-serving grin. “A true shame that my runners failed to properly deliver your invitation. It shouldn’t have happened, and given as how I hold a seat on the Runners’ Guild’s board of directors, I’ll see that the responsible party faces disciplinary action for the slight.”
Nerath flashed a smile again and motioned for Velkyn to take a seat at the alternate head of the table. While it was nominally a place of honor, it kept Clueless’s son as far away from him as possible, and kept the chairs adjacent to his own reserved for others that he was interested in for reasons both carnal or pointedly otherwise.
“No need, and I happen to have something for you.” Velkyn explained, presenting the fiend with the wrapped gift that he’d brought along. “You’ll find it a nice vintage in line with what I’ve been told are some of your favorites. And it’s also one that you likely haven’t had the chance to enjoy before.”
Nerath might have had more connections and jink than many organized religions, but as he unwrapped the bottle and held it up to the light, he realized that he was in for a treat. Being what he was, most alcohol didn’t phase him; they wouldn’t give him so much as a buzz, let alone venture close to getting him inebriated. Certain fiendish wines sufficed, though for him they were mundane, but not the bottle of fey wine that Velkyn had handed him.
Your father has been holding out on me… Nerath thought as he looked at the bottle. It was a several hundred year old bottle of a Seelie noble house’s private stock, not something that normally reached the market, and virtually unheard of to appear in the hands of non-fey nobility.
Invited or not, you’ve earned a seat boy.
“This is quite nice.” Nerath said. “If you have access to any further stock, I’m willing to compensate you. It’s incredibly difficult to obtain fey wine on the outer planes, and I happen to appreciate it. Have a seat and perhaps we can discuss that over the course of the evening.”
Velkyn had earned a spot at the table, but having presented their host with an incredibly rare and valuable gift, one more obviously valuable to most eyes, it raised a point of awkwardness for the others since they either had nothing to likewise give to the fiend, expensive or otherwise, or their own gifts seemed dull by comparison even if that wasn’t the case. Phaedra in particular seemed to feel a bit awkward, already uncomfortable around the ‘loth as she was, though curiously enough, Inva was only barely suppressing a grin. The tiefling had a gift, but she was still waiting for the best time to hand it over.
“You strike me as having a bearing befitting of nobility.” Nerath said, looking at Marcus. “Of all of you however, I found it most difficult to find out information on you. I take it that you’re from the prime material then?”
Marcus stepped forward and gave a polite bow, unaware that the ‘loth had been keenly aware of his nobility and the feigned ignorance was simply a verbal noose left out to grab. By any standard, Marcus was very nearly one of the clueless still, and while he was clearly attuned to the ways of a mortal kingdom, mortal politics, and the nobility of his world on the prime, certain things didn’t carry over into similar spheres on the planes.
The fiend could have cared less about Marcus’s royal heritage, even if he and his brother’s link to a prime material throne was currently in limbo, held as the position was by a usurper. Marcus not only played upon that heritage, he announced it, and carried himself in how he interacted with the fiend based upon that presumption of nobility in relation to nobility.
Thankfully, Nerath was content to play along, though inwardly the ‘loth was only thinking of how the mortal might become a client in the future based upon his presumptions and his goals back on the prime material.
They talked a bit more, and the fiend complimented him on his drive and ambition to regain a throne that was rightfully his. Their words ended with Marcus feeling good about himself and his ego inflated, but the fiend had meant none of it.
There’s always a market for naïve mortals…
Accompanying Marcus, Francesca was given the expected treatment, though compared to how Nerath had treated Inva or Phaedra, his actions seemed more in line with social expectation and routine than actually having any subtext of flirtation. Francesca was average, both in dress and physical looks, and lacking power or influence, the ‘loth could have cared less about her. Still, unused to the attention of a being like Nerath, she blushed when he kissed her hand, both an expression of enjoyment and unease at the same time.
I could have you in bed and screaming my name till your voice was raw tonight if I wanted. But I could do the same with any hundred men or women, single or otherwise in the Fortune’s Wheel tonight, and all of them better looking than you. You have nothing to interest me.
Next there was Marcus’s brother, and curiously enough the fiend was just as polite as could be to the cleric. Despite his own immediate misgivings about Nerath, Victor knew that the least he made mention of his discomfort about so much as being in the same room as the ‘loth the better, and so he returned the disingenuous civility with a smile and a bow.
“While my clergy still has little influence here in Sigil, I’m well aware that most of the larger faiths in the city have worked with you in the past.” Victor shook the fiend’s hand and tried not to instinctively flinch. “How could they avoid it? By all indications you get things done, and you have the connections to be able to help them out, so I’m honored to meet you.”
A cleric. That sums up my opinion right there in the description.
“A pleasure.” Nerath said, motioning for Victor to take a seat at the table. “I’d be happy to extend to you the same treatment I give to the other faiths of Sigil. You might not be as established as them, but frankly the positioning and jockeying for power that exists among them isn’t something that matters to me. I’ll work with the priests of a new faith just as evenly as I’ll work with the temples of Hermes, Moradin, or Thor, etc.”
And the temple of Set, the temple of Incabulos, the Temple of the Abyss…
Victor continued giving his best impression of a smile and took a seat as Garibaldi approached the fiend and gave a somewhat stiff bow. Admittedly, he was doing his best to be graceful, but the armor was just restrictive enough to be awkward for such social graces to come off without looking a bit off.
Not a cleric, but as foolish as one.
Finally, once his guests had all taken their seats, and after he’d had a moment to briefly let them speak in turn about who they were and what they did –though he already knew all of that before they’d walked in the door- Nerath took his place at the head of the table.
“But now that I’ve been introduced to you, allow me to introduce myself and tell you a little about who I am, what I do, and what I can offer.”
The fiend brushed a strand of hair from his face with a claw, giving an excuse for a dramatic pause.
“And believe me,” He said, glancing first to Inva, then to Phaedra. “I can offer much.”
Phaedra gave the fiend’s insinuation no outward reply, but Inva’s eyes lingered on the fiend’s and gave enough of a sparkle that it was clear –to Nerath at least- that she’d heard his offer, and while she wouldn’t be opening or closing any doors -or legs for that matter- right then and there, she understood the offer and seemed appreciative in principal.
“I buy and sell information.” Nerath explained. “Just as my predecessor did. I sell secrets the way other fiends sell souls. I arrange circumstances, I make things happen, and I procure things if you’re willing to pay for it. I’ll leave out the specifics, but reputation should suffice in what I’m capable of.”
The fiend knew more about Sigilian politics than virtually anyone else alive, dead, or otherwise, and he sat atop a network of spies that wormed their way into most of the Cage’s organizations, and a great many that extended outside of it.
“You’re a very well connected person.” Garibaldi said. “But do you have anything to say about some of the rumors I’ve heard about you?”
“Rumors?” Nerath looked faintly amused by where the fighter was going. He leaned forward and toyed with the emerald labret below his lip like some might playfully tug upon a goatee out of habit when pondering something.
“You know.” Garibaldi said, momentarily taking his finger out of the metaphorical hole in the dike of social restraint. “King of the Crosstrade and all of that: drugs, murders, having a few thieves’ guilds in your pocket. Those rumors.”
Nerath smiled from behind the rim of his wine glass, “If they could prove anything, they would. As it is, though I’m sure the Sons of Mercy and many others would love to anoint me as some criminal kingpin, they lack anyone who could actually testify in the City Courts towards any verifiable link back to me.”
His fangs and a knowing chuckle punctuated the statement, and while legally his reputation was spotless, it was one of the most open secrets in Sigil that he controlled at least 70% of the organized gangs and criminal cartels in operation within the City of Doors at any one time. Most of the drug trade, most of the trade in slaves, unwilling prostitution, and other such things ultimately fed his coffers, and ultimately his was the hand that directed those enterprises. Of course, not a word could be proven in the courts, and when they could be, such witnesses or evidence tended to vanish before it could be presented.
“But while of course my rivals might love to sully my reputation with undeserved slander, I prefer to focus on my reputation within the public sphere.”
He gestured to the room around them, and in doing so they couldn’t help but notice to jewelry on his hands and wrists.
“I’m the single largest landowner in Sigil.” Nerath explained. “And though I don’t own anything in the Fortune’s Wheel, I hold title to just under 35% of the properties in the city. Despite the aspirations of such people as Jeremo the Natterer, Zadara the Titan, and others, both individuals and organizations, no one else comes close to snapping up properties and businesses like ripe apples ready to drop. I simply know when to make an offer, and how to do so.”
The fiend’s business practices were buttressed by a healthy amount of fear in those who sold to him, and the fact that for choice bits of land, his offers were always spot on for the market value. The ‘loth’s spigot of jink seemed unending at times.
“I’m also one of the wealthiest people in the Cage, and my political connections afford me a rather large hand in public affairs.”
That was an understatement.
“With the exception of a few years after my predecessor’s death, I’ve held a seat on the Sigilian Council for the last century and a half, and it seems likely in the next open election that I’ll be appointed Chairman as well. Suffice to say between official power, unofficial inroads into the guilds, and a wealth of knowledge that I buy and sell like choice bits of flesh, I can make things happen if you’re willing to pay my price.”
“And of course, if you’re unable to do so, we can still do business.” The fiend added. “You’ll simply have to be willing to return a favor for a favor. I’m rather flexible.”
Double entendre aside, which was likely true as well, even if they didn’t purchase anything he was offering, the fiend was always open to buying the same, or to act as a middleman in a market of favors, winks, and handshakes that moved the tide of politics inside the Cage. Even if they had no direct relationship with the ‘loth, being on his good side was a positive thing for anyone living in the City of Doors, and doubly so for anyone hoping to aspire to any success therein.
“I can do a lot for you.” He said. “And I’d love to know more about your plans and goals, and what you could potentially do for me. But we can discuss such things in due time.”
At that point the fiend paused, and apparently by intent, because at the moment he stopped talking and relaxed, a pair of elegantly dressed tiefling butlers appeared bearing that evening’s dinner.