Crude Summoning

Ailwin leaned forward, the flickering lantern light catching his face and casting an eerie gleam in his eyes. He looked calm, unfazed by the mage’s fierce glow. If anything, Jareth’s display seemed to amuse him, like watching a promising but unrefined piece of weaponry.

Fortune favors the wise, they say, Ailwin murmured, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But stepping into trouble without knowing the full score? That’s not exactly wise, is it?

His gaze dropped to the necklace resting against Jareth’s chest, noting the glint of the sigil etched into it. Ailwin tilted his head ever so slightly, the expression on his face carrying a faint, almost invisible note of pity.

That necklace, he said, his voice as soft as a threat whispered in a dark alley, that’s worth more than you probably realize. In fact, if you knew what it meant, you’d understand why this conversation is long overdue. He let his words hang in the air, inviting Jareth to question, to push, but not giving more. Not yet.

Ailwin slid the note back across the bar, his fingertips lingering for a moment. So no, this isn’t a game. Though, I’ll admit, it’d be a lot more interesting if you treated it like one. He chuckled, a low, dry sound, the kind that suggested he was used to higher stakes than the odd barroom job. I don’t give information away for free. But trust me, if I wanted to waste your time, I’d be in a much better place than this, he gestured around at the murky tavern, and so would you.

He leaned back, still watching Jareth, gauging his reaction as if every flicker of his expression was another piece of the puzzle.

Now, you can try to piece together why your mother wasn’t supposed to leave the way she did… or you can take my offer. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand that sigil’s importance before you do something unwise.

@Jareth