Crude Summoning

Ailwin’s eyes sparked with something sharp and calculating, like a flint catching fire. He tilted his head, studying Jareth with the patience of a predator measuring the strength of its prey. The tavern’s noise seemed to dim even further as the tension thickened between them.

There it is, Ailwin said, voice as smooth and cool as polished stone. The right question at last. The price, my dear mage, is exactly what I said—a touch of finesse, a whisper of magic at a place where secrets dance with lies. He folded his hands, fingers laced with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. A party in the Grand Quarter, masquerade attire mandatory. Nobles milling about, masks hiding their true faces, but you, Jareth... you’ll find that not all of them are there for harmless chatter and sips of fine wine.

He leaned in, the distance between them shrinking to a thread. One guest in particular will be there, carrying something we need. I’ll spare you the theatrics—it’s a key. Not just any key, mind you, but one that opens a vault older than any Circle archive, full of treasures and truths that you wouldn’t dare dream of. Ailwin’s eyes narrowed, the ghost of a smile lingering. And I need you to be the shadow that moves unnoticed, weaving spells that only a mage like you can manage. Retrieve it for us, and the knowledge you seek is yours. Every answer, every hidden meaning locked behind that little trinket you hold so dearly.

Ailwin’s voice softened, but the weight of it hit like a storm. So, Jareth... are you willing to trade a night of deception for the truths you've chased for so long?

He reclined again, fingers tapping the bar as if the silence that followed was simply another part of the game.

@Jareth