"Disturbing Discovery"

Log Date:
	9/1/99, 9/3/99

Log Cast:
	Nox, Gelthurn (NPC emitted by Richard), Richard, Roki (NPC emitted
by Richard), Elette (NPC emitted by Richard), assorted other NPCs emitted
by Richard

Log Intro:
	The plague which has been devastating Haven has made its impact
on Richard personal now. Two of his closest friends have succumbed to the
illness after days in which he'd struggled to nurse them back to health,
with the herbal treatment bought from the merchant Weasel as well as the
treatment freely given him by the Mongrel girl Auvrey. But Richard's efforts
have been to no avail; his friends have died, leaving their children
orphaned. And Richard himself has succumbed to the same illness, after days
of trying to resist it conquering his system.
	His absence off the streets has not gone unnoted, however, and his
off-again, on-again associate is not prepared for what he finds when he
locates Richard's flat in Bordertown...

*===========================< In Character Time >==========================*
             Time of day:  Afternoon
          Date on Aether:  Thursday, March 12, 3905.
           Year on Earth:  1505 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Crescent
                  Season:  Early Spring
                 Weather:  Breeze
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

Nox treks in from Fairway Corner to the west.
Nox has arrived.
Nox comes flying into the street from the skies above a narrow alley. Even 
  though his broad, dark wings make a noticeable silhoutte against the pale 
  afternoon sky, he moves swiftly, always looking around himself with a tense 
  feeling of paranoia, making sure nobody notices him up there. He lands a few 
  houses away from Richard's house, glancing down at a crude map in his hands. 
  Tracing something on the rough, dirty piece of paper, he mutters to himself, 
  "Now...this must be somewhere here, if this description is even remotely 
  correct." Finally, he looks up again, walking into the direction of the 
  building, looking over his shoulder to check that nobody follows him.

The place is not particularly impressive when compared to Varati or Empyrean 
  architecture, to be sure. But then again, this seedy rooming house is taller 
  than the average building in Bordertown, and a bit more sturdily built. 
  There's no sign over the door, though; apparently, this establishment 
  doesn't make a habit of advertising itself. The street its front door faces 
  is more or less deserted at the moment -- but that's not saying much, given 
  the state of the streets these days.

Nox rolls up the map and slips it into his sleeve after he's sure that he is 
  alone in this street. As he reaches the door, he first studies it quietly 
  for a few moments, checking for any signs, marks, as well as judging the 
  material and style of it. Finally, he raises his hand to knock softly once 
  again the wood.

The knocking yields no prompt reply, but after several long moments, the front 
  door open sa crack, and a suspicious eye peers out into the street. "Yeah?" 
  comes a voice from within, a gruffly barked demand, with nothing to that 
  single syllable to give a clue as to the gender or race of the speaker.

Nox narrows his own eyes, to meet the one that peeks out. His voice is low, 
  but expressionless, "I need to speak to Richard."

A noise that might be a bark of laughter of some kind emerges from behind the 
  door. "He's 'indisposed'," the voice as of yet unattached to anything save 
  that one suspicious eye visible through the cracked-open door rasps, 
  pronouncing the second word with a tang of sarcasm. "Place's under 
  quar'ntine, wingboy, and if ye know what's good for ye, ye'll get a move on 
  unless you're a healer."

Nox grumbles lowly, concern showing on his face. Then, he demands firmly, 
  "When did Richard catch the plague?" He takes a step forward, so he stands 
  directly in front of the door, only inches away from the eye.

"How the frek should I know?" grumbles the speaker behind the door. The young 
  Empyrean's closer proximity can get him a glimpse of small, narrowed dark 
  eyes, and a face of a dark ocher hue just behind the door. "What do I look 
  like, his personal healer? He's up in his room. He's sick. What's it to you?"

Nox slides swiftly one foot forward, to place it in the narrow opening of the 
  door. Glowering at the speaker, his lips tigthen. "Somebody who sticks with 
  him while he's sick. Somebody who might have an idea what happened, and 
  somebody who might help him if he isn't so uptight about it. What it is to 
  me? Maybe I can find somebody to aid? If I have an idea how bad his 
  condition and how advanced the stage is."

What is visible of that swarthy, round-featured face through the crack starts 
  as the darkling forces his foot into the space between the door and the 
  surrounding frame. "All right, all right," the man -- for man it must be, 
  given the depth of the voice's growl -- behind the door complains. "It's 
  your funeral." All at once the door is tugged open, revealing the stocky, 
  grubby frame that goes with the face; the keeper of this building looks no 
  more impressive than his establishment does. "Third floor. If he's 
  conscious, tell him his rent is due."

Nox grins as the door finally opens, stepping inside. He slides a quintar out 
  of his chiton, flipping it into the air, towards the man. "Your help is much 
  appreciated. And thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself." 
  The darkling's tone is much lighter than it was before as he looks around 
  for a staircase.

The grubby little Mongrel who lets Nox in the front door apparently has 
  excellent reflexes, at least when it comes to snatching coinage out of the 
  air. Caught, the quintar vanishes into the man's hand and then into a pocket 
  in two blinks of an eye, and with a smirk, he gestures with his other hand 
  towards the back of the common room into which the door leads. The room in 
  general is as battered and unimpressive as the building's exterior; there's 
  a scattering of tables off to the right, near the big chimney along the 
  eastern wall. To the west and left, there's a bar. Huddled bodies are 
  sleeping in some of the room's visible corners; the light is poor, and the 
  place smells of musty air and illness.
But in the center of the room, nearly bisecting it, is the beginnings of a 
  staircase.

Nox paces in swift strides through the hallway towards the indicated stairway, 
  giving the other people sleeping at the sides a look of compassion and pity.

Dingy Flat - Bordertown - Haven
     A good amount of the living space in Bordertown is cramped, dimly lit, 
  and stuffy. This particular dingy little flat is no exception, at least when 
  it comes to those first two qualities. Situated as it is on the third floor 
  of the squalid building it occupies, with a narrow, high window at either 
  end of the room, one thing this place does boast is a flow of air during 
  most times of the year. The furnishings aren't much. Under the northern 
  window there's a bed with a lumpy mattress of rushes and a battered wooden 
  chest at one end; under the southern, a rickety table, two small stools, and 
  a low set of shelves. Most of the eastern wall is comprised of the crude 
  brick that went into the making of the chimney that runs the height of the 
  entire building, and which opens out into the room via a small hearth. 
  Illumination, when not provided by daylight or a fire in the hearth, comes 
  courtesy of the small lamp that hangs from the weathered wooden beam that 
  bisects the view of the underside of the building's slanted, shingled roof.
Contents:
Nox
Obvious exits:
Stairs <W>

Nox knocks two times. Just standing a few seconds in front of the closed door, 
  to give Richard time to prepare whatever he could be preparing, then opens 
  the door and steps into the doorframe, without waiting for an answer. He 
  gaze wanders only briefly around the room, scanning for Richard.

The staircase is narrowly constructed, running up to the third floor and 
  opening out into a short stub of a corridor. There are two doors, one to the 
  west and one to the east; a gruffly barked comment that follows Nox up the 
  stairs points out the western door as the one for Richard's room. When the 
  young Empyrean knocks, however, there's no immediate answer from within the 
  room -- and when the door opens, the first thing that greets Nox is a pair 
  of small forms barrelling into his legs in what is a poorly launched attack. 
  Two sets of small fists pummel at him, and a child's desperate voice pipes 
  out, "Go away! Go away! Go away!" The room is dark, too, save for what light 
  comes in through the windows. But here, unlike the room below, there's a 
  lesser smell of illness, at least by the door. On the bed under the northern 
  window, there lies a rumpled form that only barely stirs at the commotion of 
  Nox's entry -- that, perhaps, is the only sign of Richard.

Nox reacts swiftly as the two kids charge at him, dodging to the side to let 
  the two kid run through at the side of him. His wings try to unfold as he 
  jumps away, but the hallways is just too narrow to let him spread them, so 
  he only finds his feathers brushing against the wall. His eyes flash 
  dangerously at the two youngsters trying to beat on him, and his hands reach 
  immediatly for his sheathed dagger. "Leave me be, kids!" he demands in a 
  growl, still trying to evade their small fists. "I know what I am doing."

The larger child, a boy who may be anywhere between seven and ten from the 
  look of him, immediately demands, "Who are ye and w-whaddya want?" His voice 
  is a lad's warbling soprano, and further unsteadied by fear and possibly 
  exhaustion as well, but he nevertheless gazes fiercely up into Nox's dark 
  visage.

In the meantime, his companion, a girl who may be four or five in age and who 
  is as pale as the boy is dark, doesn't say a word. But her enormous eyes go 
  wide as the Empyrean's wings snap, and she scampers back out of the way. Her 
  small form zips to the bed, and she starts trying to shake the limp arm of 
  the form slumped there under haphazardly crumpled bedclothes. It's about as 
  effective as a mouse trying to start an earthquake by jumping up and down, 
  but this doesn't seem to stop her.

Nox's hand remains on the hilt of the dagger as he takes a firm, broadlegged 
  stance, folding his wins together on his back. His eyes shoot briefly for 
  the girl, but then return, more slowly, to meet the boy's gaze. His lips 
  turn to a wry grin and his voice, albeit deep, doesn't sound as dangerous 
  and omnious all of a sudden, "I could ask the same of you, kid." He 
  indicates with one thumb of his free hand the dark room, "Came to see 
  Richard. Or whatever is left of him."

This boy-child is about as Mongrel as it's possible for a Mongrel to get; most 
  of him seems to be, well, brown, but it's difficult to say whether this has 
  to do with the natural darkness of his coloring or dirt on both his clothing 
  and his person. But despite the fact that he's in obvious need of a bath, 
  it's still easy enough to see the flash of anxiety that crosses his dark 
  eyes, warring with an obvious desire to properly guard the door. "Are you a 
  friend?" he demands vehemently, pointing a small dirty finger up at the 
  winged figure before him.

The little girl, in the meantime, flashes a silent glance at the boy and the 
  unexpected intruder. But she doesn't stop her attempts to shake the arm of 
  the form in the bed. Whether it's her tiny motions or the sounds of voices 
  in the room that accomplish it is hard to determine, but nevertheless, the 
  prone figure stirs slightly, emitting a husky groan.

Nox studies the boy before him, searching for signs of familiarity in his face 
  -- or signs of the plague, for that matter. "Yeah, I'm a friend. Sort of. 
  Probably closest to a person who could find some help for Rich. Now..." His 
  tension rises again, "would you /please/ let me through to him." He doesn't 
  beg, but simply demands passage to the room.

The child seems healthy enough, even though he's as thin as a rake -- not at 
  all uncommon for Mongrel children in Bordertown, after all. Little more than 
  that can be gleaned from the layers of grime over his features, but one 
  thing is obvious enough: the concern in his face as he glances back and 
  forth between Nox and the man in the bed, his attention torn between the 
  Empyrean's demand and the groan he'd heard. Now, though, the boy relents, 
  edging away to give the visitor admittance. Still, though, he does shoot a 
  meaningful glance to the girl-child as well as the hissed order, "Keep an 
  eye on 'im, Lettie, while I get the door!"

Nox rolls his eyes and finally steps inside, remaining close to the doorframe. 
  His eyes take a few moments to adjust to the darkness, then, finally, as he 
  can make out shades and outlines, he focuses on the bundle lying on the bed. 
  "Is he asleep?" he asks the girl in a quiet voice.

While the boy throws his meager store of strength into hauling the door closed 
  again, all the while casting half-wary, half-worried glances towards the 
  bed, the girl-child stops her attempts to rouse the prone man. Those 
  enormous, liquid eyes lift up to study Nox, then turn round to study the one 
  lying down, and then lift up again. Her only reply is a solemn little shake 
  of her head.

The figure on the bed stirs again, in confirmation of the girl's verdict. At a 
  closer distance, it can be seen to be Richard, indeed... but the man is 
  gravely altered, his hair a disheveled mess, a full beard having claimed the 
  lower half of his face. In stark contrast to his black hair and whiskers, 
  his skin has turned alarmingly pale, save for a flush of heat across cheeks 
  turned hollow with strain and illness. Unfocused, overhot, overbright, his 
  eyes come open -- but stare at nothing. And when he speaks, his voice is 
  disturbing as well, hollow and drained as though he can barely spare the 
  strength for the utterance... or as if he is dreaming. "Elette, dearling, 
  have you had your tea?" That small spate of whispered words is delivered 
  entirely free of his usual lilting accent, and the sound of it prompts the 
  girl to snap her attention right back to him.

Nox's tension ceases from his body, his eyes flickering unsurely as he regards 
  the sick, crouched figure, trying to see the man in him he once knew as 
  Richard. His hand slides away from the weapon, to the handle of the now 
  closed door. Silently, he places one finger upon his lips, to indicate to 
  the girl not to mention him, then simply waits for Elette to answer 
  Richard's question.

There's not much distance from the door to the bed, and the boy-child grimaces 
  as he tries to duck around the Empyrean's wings to come up to the 
  girl-child's side. The lad catches Nox's gesture, though, and frowns 
  suspiciously -- but he also seems to accept it, as he's the one who actually 
  answers the delirious mumble from the man lying on his back on the bed. "She 
  drank it, Uncle Richard, jus' like you said!" The girl bobs her pale tousled 
  head vigorously in agreement, but otherwise says nothing, while the boy 
  focuses a worried gaze on the ailing man. "She drank hers an' I drank mine."

"You must continue to do so," comes another faint whisper. "It is vital, Roki. 
  Do you understand?" As if wanting to punctuate this, Richard begins to try 
  to sit up, wanting to meet the boy's gaze with his own... but he is clearly 
  lacking the strength. He falters there where he lies, the room whirling 
  about in his senses, and his gaze flickering wildly in several directions... 
  until it skims over the blurred, dark figure of Nox somewhere in the shadows 
  behind the children. There is no recognition in the febrile blue eyes, but 
  some sort of instinct seems to trigger within him regardless, for he jerks 
  violently and once more struggles to rise.

Alarmed, the children surge forward, the girl making her first noise since Nox 
  came into the room -- a plaintive little whimper -- and the boy crying, "No 
  Uncle Richard, you can't!"

Nox lets the boy pass, lifting one wing as much as possible. He speaks up now 
  to Richard, as the man struggles to sit up, "Don't! Stay lying down, Richard. 
  You'd only exert yourself." A gesture with one dark hand, waving down, 
  accompanies his words. "It's me, Nox. No need to worry. Since when do you 
  have the plague?" he demands to know. As his eyes narrow at the huddled 
  mongrel, the kids are forgotten for the moment. Forgotten, or simply ignored.

"He got it from Da," the boy puts in unhappily. "And Momma. He was takin' care 
  of them and then he was gonna take care of us but then he got sick too and 
  we're takin' care of him!" These last few words burst out of the child with 
  an almost frantic vehemence. All the while, the girl keeps bobbing her head 
  up and down, but her eyes grow increasingly limpid, as if she might burst 
  into tears at any moment.

Richard, in the meantime, peers blearily through the dim light, half-propped 
  on his elbow. From what is visible of him, he's in as dire a need of a bath 
  as the children are, but nevertheless he's clad underneath his tousled 
  sheets. Or at the very least, wearing a shirt. "Nox?" he murmurs absently, 
  his brow crinkling in consternation. "I... recollect the name... ave, 
  dominus... I..."

Nox blinks at the boy, then smiles in a friendly way at him, "Can you remember 
  when he got it? Are your parents still alive?"

To this last question, the boy's face palpably crumples, his mouth drawing 
  into a small mournful line. Clearly trying to look as stoic as possible, he 
  shakes his head slowly... and at last the girl speaks, piping in to fill the 
  boy's silence, "They took them away in the cart." Having made this doleful 
  pronouncement, she promptly pops her thumb into her mouth.

Pity flares up briefly in the dark Empyrean's eyes, but his expression remains 
  unmoved as he nods to the confirmation of his thoughts. "Ok, now tell me 
  when this happened? And if you have enough food and drink to keep him alive 
  for another few days."

Richard, in the meantime, turns his head in a sharp jerk of a motion towards 
  the children. A sharp-edged guilt tears across his expression, twisting the 
  pale, haggard features and adding anguish to the ravages illness is dealing 
  to his usually fine-lined visage. "I am so sorry," he murmurs faintly, 
  staring at the little ones, or perhaps past them. "So very sorry... my 
  fault, I did not mean to..." His voice is rapidly losing what strength it 
  had, however, and he has begun to shiver violently, his form crumpling down 
  again to the bed.

The boy swallows hard. But he manages to blurt out nevertheless, "U-Uncle 
  Richard got the first cure f-from Weasel a-and then he got the cure from 
  Auvrey but Momma and D-Da were too sick so th-they got carried off on the 
  cart a-a-a-and that was... three days ago? Three. Three." Beside him, the 
  girl starts nodding up and down again, her thumb still in her mouth.

Nox approaches the boy, then crouches down to be at even eye level with the 
  lad. Looking him sternly in the eyes, he asks, "He got the cure three days 
  ago as well? Did you pour that tea with the cure for him and fed it to him 
  already?" His eyes show no recognition at the names the youngster mentions, 
  Weasel and Auvrey, but he remembers them for later.

Roki's brown eyes meet Nox's violet eyes squarely enough, despite the visible 
  consternation in the juvenile features. Swallowing hard once again, the boy 
  bobs his tousled dark head, while offering, "Once a day, like he was doin' 
  for Momma and Da, but, but we ain't got too much left!"

The little girl, Elette, studies the boy and the Empyrean, and then turns her 
  liquid gaze on the ailing Richard. Without taking her thumb out of her 
  mouth, she reaches over a tiny hand and timidly pats the prone man's chest.

Nox narrows his eyebrows on the boy, finally realizing that this is not 
  lungroot tea they are feeding him. Otherwise, he'd be already up and well. 
  He gnawls on his underlip, considering for a moment, "For how many days do 
  you have left?"

Roki shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, while on the bed, Richard 
  fretfully writhes back and forth, his head turning from side to side before 
  settling with his face half-buried in the lumpy pillow beneath him. A small 
  wordless moan escapes him, not loud enough to be more than a background 
  noise to the solemn conversation going on at his bedside. Little Elette 
  keeps quietly patting Richard's chest, in little stroking motions, as though 
  he were a pet she were trying to soothe. "I-I think two days? Three maybe, 
  dom'nus, if I stretch the stuff out," the boy uneasily replies.

Nox squints, his expression turning sour. "I will be back as soon as 
  possible", he announces grimly. "With something to heal Richard. Or somebody 
  to heal him. Meanwhile" he wiggles with his fingers in the girl's direction, 
  indicating to her to move off the bed, "try to stay clear of Richard as much 
  as you can. Give him the tea, make sure he eats and is safe, but don't touch 
  him needlessly. I am not sure if I can find enough to cure three people." He 
  considers, trying to remember a simple basic rules and guidelines for 
  avoiding the spread of disease, "Ooh...yeah, don't touch his stuff too much 
  either. If you can get new clothes, wear them and burn the old ones." He 
  grins wryly, "And if you have access to clean water, wash yourself." The 
  grin fades as he asks firmly, "Do you understand?"

Elette does not frown; indeed, she doesn't take her thumb out of her mouth, so 
  her sober little face does not alter in the slightest. But she does stop 
  petting the sick man, and after a moment's consideration, she starts trying 
  to tug the horribly snarled blanket twined around his form up to better 
  cover him.

Making a frustrated little grimace, Roki tells the girl, "Lettie, let me," and 
  steps over to help her out. As he does, he glances up at Nox again. The girl 
  might not be frowning, but _he_ is, and he says in petulant tones, "Greasy 
  ol' Gelthurn won't let us out and he's been hoardin' the water!"

Nox quirks his thumb to the door, in the direction of where the staircase up 
  was. Seriously displeased, he asks Roki, "You mean the owner of this smeary 
  hovel? He has water, but keeps it all for himself?" He does keep his deep 
  voice calm, though it sounds strained.

As the children try to smooth out his blanket, Richard rolls onto his back 
  again, his eyes now tightly closed, his black brows winging down over them 
  in apparent dismay as he dimly feels the motions of little hands trying to 
  get him covered. "N-no," he mumbles, his face turning towards the window, 
  "need to... need to feel the sky... don't..."

"You hafta take a nap now, Uncle Richard," Roki pipes, his voice cracking 
  before he shoots his half-terrified gaze back to the Empyrean. "He been 
  givin' everybody only a little bit of water a day 'cause of the sick ones 
  downstairs," comes the grudging reply.

Nox grumbles, quirking his thumb into his belt, near the dagger. He states 
  firmly, "I will talk with him." With that, he turns to the door, opening it 
  again. "Remember what I told you, kids. I will come back, to make sure he 
  won't die." Those are his last words, before he dissapears into the hallway.

That might be gratitude that flashes across the face of the boy, as Roki bobs 
  his head in acknowledgement -- but both the children's attention is 
  obviously primarily with the man they're guarding. Neither of them calls any 
  sort of farewell when the Empyrean takes his leave; indeed, as the door is 
  closed on the cramped little room, the last words that can be heard out of 
  the boy before the door cuts him off are, "Lettie, we gotta cool his face 
  off--"

Silence follows Nox down to the lower level of the rooming house, but once 
  down there again, the stirrings and moanings of the ill and the imprecations 
  of those attending them can be heard. So can the irascible voice of the man 
  who apparently owns or runs the building, as he argues with a rake-thin 
  woman with streaks of gray in her hair over... conveniently enough... the 
  water rationing.

Nox approaches the man with a grim face -- as much as he can manage grimness 
  on these soft features. Ok, so maybe Nox isn't the most impressive of all 
  persons, but he hopes at least the dark silhouette of his half spread wings 
  can make an impression. "You're Gelthurn?" he asks directly, cutting off any 
  conversation he's been having.

"Aye, he's Gelthurn, lousy stingy--" begins the woman, even as the short, 
  round-faced man Nox had confronted at the front door before turns his 
  annoyed dark gaze on the Empyrean. Those same dark eyes look Nox up and down.

"Who wants to know?" the man sneers.

Nox offers only a brief reply, none too friendly either, "I do." Then, he 
  takes a long breath. "Now, I gave you one bronze coin. I thought that was 
  really generous of me. I think some generosity of your side could be 
  expected as well. The kids up in Richard's quarter need some clean water to 
  wash them off, and I heard you have it." He pauses briefly.

"The brats've had their water ration for th' day," Gelthurn retorts in frigid 
  tones, his swarthy features set in obstinate lines. "It ain't my business if 
  they spend it on Richard or washin' their grubby little faces!"

"Look, here, I talked of generosity. Whatever they had, it was not enough for 
  them. So if you don't try to be cooperative for the money I gave you, I can 
  use other means as well." Nox' hand moves ostensibly to the hilt of his 
  dagger. His voice remains calm, almost nice, if it wasn't for that dangerous 
  undertone. "Do you want me to break your legs before you give them what they 
  require? Or perhaps cut a hand off?"

"Generosity?!" comes Gelthurn's explosive reply, even as the woman with whom 
  he'd been arguing snorts aloud. "Listen, blackwing, I been generous enough 
  letting Richard stick a sick family up there without chargin' him extra 
  rent! The brats're eatin' my food and drinkin' my water and so did their 
  sire and dam!" He jabs a finger around the room in several directions, 
  growling, "Look around! I got other sick people here too, ya know! Why the 
  kark should I give extra water to two whining brats? Just because you say 
  so? Who the hells are you?"

The woman's attention swings round to Nox, then, and her gray eyes narrow in 
  suspicious of her own. "Think you're better'n'us, wingboy?" she snaps 
  shrewishly.

Nox completely ignores the woman, stepping closer up to the stocky man, "You 
  listen, mister. I've seen those brats and I know how they look like. They 
  didn't get near enough food lately, and near enough water. Still, I can see 
  you're pretty well filled, and they keep telling me you keep more water 
  hidden. So unless you want to find out just who I am and what I can do to 
  you, you'd better share some of the stuff you've holed up. Because, believe 
  me, if I find out that these two kids catch the plague as well, because you 
  were too crummy to spare what you have, you'll have a lot more trouble than 
  just two more sick youngsters."

Gelthurn might be a greedy little pig of a man, but it would seem that he is 
  either too brave or perhaps too stupid to be easily intimidated by idle 
  threats. "Plague take you and the griffon you flew in on, blackwing!" he 
  snarls, throwing his weight forward on his feet. "What kinda business you 
  got comin' in here tellin' me how to run my place? You think I'm gonna curl 
  up and do whatcha say just because _you_ wave a knife around? Hell with you!"

"The brats can get their share just like the rest of us!" asserts the woman 
  fiercely. She, however, unlike Gelthurn, has edged back a step or two, with 
  a wary eye on Nox's weapon. And around her and the two arguing men, other 
  faces are beginning to turn in the direction of the argument, with little 
  murmurs of anxiety beginning to ripple through the room.

Nox shifts his eyes away from the proprietor, to the other people gathering 
  up. His voice drops a bit into a soothing, even friendly tone as he speaks 
  to them, "Hmmm. Perhaps you are right. I think the kids should get only 
  their share like the rest of you." He carefully observes the conditions of 
  the other inhabitants, as well as their reaction. "However, all I see is 
  this man" The sound of unsheathed metal rings through the hall as he draws 
  his dagger, pointing with it right at Gelthurn's nose, "gets the best of it 
  from your money, while he denies enough for all of you. How many of you have 
  eaten sufficiently, or washed themselves lately? Do you think he would spare 
  you any more than what you need to keep you alive, to press more money out 
  of you, if you come to him individually and beg?" He raised his volume quite 
  a bit at the end, his eyes something between begging and demanding for 
  support from the others.

With the tip of a dagger right in his face, it _does_ seem now that Gelthurn 
  can be intimidated. A few beads of sweat break out across his swarthy brow, 
  and he freezes there where he stands before the young Empyrean. Only his 
  gaze moves as he flicks a glance to the left and to the right, taking in the 
  room at large as various voices begin to speak up.

"He been real stingy with the supplies ever since we had to shut the place 
  up!" someone calls.

Someone else cries, "We all need more water!"

And the woman by Nox and Gelthurn, her eyes narrowed anew, peers darkly at the 
  latter for a moment before jerking her attention round to Nox again. "What'd 
  those kids say?" she abruptly demands.

Nox gives the woman his best charming smile, "Exactly what you said, ma'am. 
  That they need more water. And that he has it. Don't you think we want the 
  same thing?" His outstretched arm, and with it, the dagger, does not move 
  one bit.

"I think we oughtta search his room!" a young man hollers hoarsely, from near 
  the bar. It might be noted that the shelves behind said bar are noticeably 
  depleted in their stock; perhaps the denizens of this place have been 
  putting a dent in the supply of alcohol?

Gelthurn begins sweating a little more heavily now, beginning to show hints of 
  the look of a trapped animal about his small black eyes. He swallows 
  visibly, while several voices of assent to that last suggestion make 
  themselves heard. "M.. maybe," he rasps then, "I can find a little more 
  water..."

Nox smiles suddenly at Gelthurn, lowering his dagger. "That's very smart of 
  you. I knew you would be a generous, reasonable man." To the other people, 
  he calls out, "He'll give you what he can. Let it be good at it!" His dagger 
  flips around once in his fingers, so the sharp end points right at his belly 
  again. With a dangerous flash in his eyes, he announces to his victim, "But 
  remember: I will come back in a few days, to take care of Richard. If I hear 
  that you have cheated on these people, I will still cut off your nose."

"All right... all right," Gelthurn mutters, swallowing again at the obvious 
  dexterity and grace with which the Empyrean handles his blade. "Don't hafta 
  get personal! I'll... go look in my room, might have somethin' in there..." 
  And he starts edging backwards, _very_ carefully, not taking his eyes from 
  Nox or his dagger.

The woman, in the meantime, peers at the winged man and then up the stairs. 
  "Rick's still alive?" she asks then.

Nox sheathes his dagger again, replying to the man, "I don't. I just make sure 
  you understood our deal." As he strides to the door, he answers to the 
  woman, "He is. And I will make sure he will stay alive. Don't dare to change 
  anything about that." He looks over his shoulder once more as he opens the 
  door, then slips out, spreading his wings as soon as he is under the sky 
  again.

[End log.]