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Daisies are most often used to symbolize purity and innocence.
~*~*~
Who’d ever thought Brent, an ex-cultist and assassin, would ever be associated with the words above? But the friendship he shares with Hyacinthe brings about just that. The Bard started off as his apprentice in archeology, and their cheerful yet respectful demeanor somehow manages to pull the rogue out of his seeming constant state of pouting and gloominess. An impressive feat not achieved by many.
Hyacinthe ( @20poundsoftrouble ) belongs to @darkestfable . You can check out and support their lovely artwork here.
Brent ( @brent-sunborn ) belongs to @thefugitivemango . You can check out and support his awesome writing here.
[[ Another patron reward from my favourite artist @kidcatgeminiart! Are you sensing a trend with Brent? If he’s not annoyed, he’s upset-- and now she’s covered them both for him! Thank you so much @kidcatgemini! I can’t encourage people enough to check her stuff out and support her at https://www.patreon.com/Sinafay! ]]
Brent for certain prefers to be the dominant one. For him, it’s less about power and more about control. Rarely does he enjoy being at someone else’s mercy...
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((Co-written with @brent-sunborn / @thefugitivemango. It’s backdated to when the scourge event happened.))
The shop closed early for the day, much to Hyacinthe’s delight. So many orders were coming in for traps and explosives and cloaking devices that their hands ached from wiring and bolting and fastening. The devices weren’t difficult to build, just tedious. And that was the worst part. Nothing could be done to speed up the process, they just had to work straight through it.
Outside of Cut Throat Alley there were sounds of a bit of commotion, but it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. Given the recent celebrations for All Hallow’s Eve, the engineer figured that people were carrying on like they did. Things on the warfronts had quieted down with everyone’s efforts, so a bit of relaxing was due. With a smile, Hyacinthe retired to their loft bed, limbs aching with each ladder rung.
A scream cut through the walls of the shop like a knife, loud and shrill. The bard jumped, then scrambled across their bed to the window at the head and pushed it open. Said window overlooked the canal, where Hyacinthe could clearly see people running now. There was an acrid stench that hung in the air, but it could almost be dismissed before their blue eyes settled on it.
The original plans for the camera were gnomish, of course, and it was only with their teacher’s blessing that Hyacinthe had decided to improve on the design. Their newer model had shorter and longer shutter speeds and a more variable aperture, allowing for a larger range of photographs to be taken. Add to that a more stable and safe film carriage and a wireless remote? This camera was worlds better in every way.
In the loft above the shop they worked in, they sat on their makeshift bed with all of the photos from the first dig spread out on their blanket. They had been developed days ago, but a sudden influx of orders kept the high elf busy until they were too exhausted to even think. Unfortunately, some of the orders involved traps enchanted for certain elements and well… That had turned out rather interesting.
At least their hair did grow back, albeit in their natural auburn.
Hyacinthe selected the three most scenic pictures from the pile, the ones they felt really captured the essence of the Jade Forest without all of that void shit that had spewed forth from the corrupted relic. The first photo was a waterfall framed by out of focus pink blossoms, the second of the peaks against a blue sky just before the sun had started to set. The third was taken after they had contained the relic; the sun setting in a sky of pinks and oranges. A riot of color.
Along with the photos, Hyacinthe also included one of the feathers from the beard incident, tucked neatly into the envelope with a short note.
Brent,
I know it didn’t go as planned, but it was still an adventure. May we forever forge our own paths.
Hyacinthe
The envelope was sealed up carefully, the inside flap rubbed with a bit of Hyacinthe’s soap in hopes of combating the smell of grease and engineering that permeated everything in the shop. The bard had to go run some errands anyway, and they’d slip it under Brent’s door while they were out. He’d know what it was and who it was from, hopefully.
Sometime later, Brent returned home. Warily, he glanced around before pulling the key from one of his many pockets. It was habitual at this point-- who knew who was watching his home while he was away.
This time, his ear flickered. He crouched down, attention drawn to his doormat. An innocuous exterior decoration; plain, sturdy, and single-colored. It didn't even have the word "Welcome" like many he had seen. That wasn't an invitation he'd ever extend via rug.
Brent made a point never to step on the mat himself, but people weren't as cautious. He slowly turned the corner up, peering beneath it. Also differing from other doormats, Brent had placed a long, wide sheet of parchment beneath his. And having rubbed the underside of the mat in charcoal, any footsteps left a highly discernible print on the otherwise clean page. Overly-paranoid? Perhaps. But today it paid off.
Someone had been here.
The prints indicated no one actually entered, at least; two footprints next to one another. But the toes of both were much darker than the heel... someone crouched down, perhaps? His azure eyes scanned beneath the door itself, noting a rather distinct absence of dust in one small section, as if it were brushed away. He frowned, brow furrowing, as he deduced that someone had slipped something under his door. Who? What? Why? A million possibilities swirled in his mind, and none of them were of any comfort. Brent had no shortage of enemies these days. And if one was so inclined, a rune inscribed on paper, enchanted to explode when someone stepped on it, would be a quick way to end a less observant mark. Brent had no intention of dying today.
He slipped in through his contingency entrance, approaching the foreign object from the relative safety inside his apartment. An envelope? Curious. It didn't appear trapped. He tested it out, just to be sure. A steel ball bearing, then a pillow... nothing set anything off. He tightened his mask to filter out any spores or toxins that might puff out as he slowly opened it...
"... Gods, Hyacinthe."
He groaned, exhaling a relieved sigh. Of course! He nearly forgot that he'd told them where he lived, should they need to slip him a note or reach out somehow. Seeing one of their beard feathers, he instantly knew. What a weird day that was...
He tugged the contents from the envelope, and looked them all over. Pictures...? He smiled softly, enjoying the captured scenes from their Pandaria trip. He had no idea what they meant when they said the sky looked like a dessert, but... seeing it now in the still frame? They weren't wrong. He opened the note last, nodding a bit as he read their message. It was... touching. Sweet. He folded the note back up, and slipped the pictures- and feather - back inside the envelope with it. He tucked it away in a small, otherwise empty box he'd found and restored on a dig. A chest, intended for treasure and valuables. Brent didn’t have anything really to put in it.
[[ A commissioned piece from the wonderfully talented Harley! She plays Brent’s, uh... “friend”, @darkestfable! Working with her was a real treat, and as you can see the product is AMAZING! Thank you so much, Harley! Please everyone go check out her stuff at patreon.com/GalacticatArt! <3 ]]
RP log with @brent-sunborn who captured the log! Just two dark dudes meeting in a cemetery discussing dark things. Nothing suspicious here.
Brentius emerges from the shadows as he sees Iaerian arrive. His eyes narrow. “… We’re going to renegotiate.”
Iaerian scoffed, a long white brow arched as he moved a little nearer to the wagon, leaning against his with his arms folded across his chest. Never taking his gaze from Brent, he sighed, “Don’t tell me you found yourself charmed by my daughter.”
[Brentius]: -Hardly-. Your daughter’s more of a handful than you led me to believe. And her organization is taxing in its own way. If you want me to stick around and keep playing informant for you, it’ll cost a lot more than Cragchisel’s recommendation letter.
Iaerian grinned smugly, “What? A fresh start wasn’t enough?” Turning up his hawkish nose, he rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “What is it? Gold? A new partner to pal around with?”
Brentius scoffs. “Gold’s nothing to you. And a fresh start anywhere else would’ve been better than your daughter’s little sorority house.” he rests his hands on his belt. Or… on the hilts of his blades? Hard to see exactly.
[Brentius]: If you just want me to inform you of her dealings, that’s one thing. But if you want me to play interference… keep her from doing things like… reaching out to a nephew in Suramar, for example…
[Iaerian]: Well then, what is it that you want exactly? Spit it out already.
Iaerian eyes you up and down.
[Brentius]: I want Nepen'thea back. I don’t know where to begin bringing her back from wherever it is she’s gone, but I expect you might.
Iaerian inspected his long fingernails a moment, only taking his eyes off of Brent briefly to do so, “I can boast my strengths all day and night for you, but I am hardly a necromancer.” Pausing, he drew in a breath - a brow rose once again, his eyes meeting »
Iaerian » Brent’s, “You will be bargaining down a darker path if you truly wish for me to look into this for you.”
[Iaerian]: I may host a few connections.
[Brentius]: You know I’ve been down dark paths before. Darker than this. Expend every resource. Find a way to bring my beloved Nepen'thea back… and I’ll keep your daughter from upsetting your other ambitions.
Brentius reaches into his pocket, and pulls out an envelope - leaving it to Iaerian to surmise what it is. “… That, and thirty-thousand gold.”
[Brentius]: Call it a ‘retainer’.
Iaerian shrugged in his usually disinterested fashion. It wouldn’t be any body language Brent wasn’t use to from Iaerian in the slightest. “I do this for you and I will need a little more than you merely slipping obstacles out for my dear daughter.”
[Iaerian]: I require a bit more information about the Violet Bastion. Whom Saedre keeps close. What excursions she is planning.
Brentius raises his brow. “… I’ll tell you who she’s close to, sure.”
Iaerian bared his teeth slightly, “..and?”
[Iaerian]: If your dearly departed is so very precious to you, then prove to me she is worth it?
[Brentius]: And their operations? Fine. As long as you don’t plan to interfere with the ones I care about.
[Brentius]: Digs and such.
[Brentius]: I’ll let you know which are which.
Iaerian nods, “Very well.” His eyes pierced through that letter. It was obvious he ached to pursue the information within. “And I take it that is for me? Well then, let us have it and I’ll toss over your coin by the end of the week.”
Brentius shakes his head. “Coin first. All of it. Tomorrow.” he slips it back into his pocket. “Or it might accidentally reach its intended recipient.”
Iaerian shadowy wisps trailed behind him, the highborne elder stepping closer - his teeth bared in his agitation, “You finally produce one sniveling little piece of paper for me and have the nerve to tell -me- when?” His hand reached for his dagger, only resting along it’s dark hilt in that moment.
Brentius doesn’t flinch. He meets the elder elf’s gaze with his own, piercingly. “Seems to me it’s an important piece of paper, to get you all worked up like this.”
[Brentius]: Until I’m paid a retainer… I don’t work for you. The letter’s mine to do with as I choose, yeah?
[Iaerian]: I could cut you down where you stand and easily find another replacement. I wonder what the Violet Bastion would do if they were to find out just who you really were.
[Brentius]: If you cut me down, old man, I wouldn’t have to worry about it, would I?
[Brentius]: If you really think you can draw steel faster than one of C'Thun’s Blackened Blades… feel free to try me.
Brentius narrows his eyes. “Otherwise, I’d scrape that thirty thousand together.”
Iaerian kept his distance from Brent. He knew what he was capable of, but he also knew Brent knew what he was capable of. The two danced around the other like mere peacocks at this point. “You dare?” He hissed, the shadows that subtly weaved around his form growing all the more intense. “You sniveling little child, I’ve felled more on my blade before you were barely a glint in your father’s eye.”
[Brentius]: Probably many before that, too. But comparing your body count to mine, considering your ten-thousand-year heads start? Think I’ve caught up pretty well, in my time.
Brentius shakes his head. “Irrelevant, either way.”
Iaerian barked a laugh, his nose pointed towards the air in that haughty fashion of his, “Admit it, you’re growing rather attached to these 'scholars’!”
Brentius knits his brow. “Some are only alive so I can keep working for you, Iaerian. Please, -please- say our deal’s off, and I wouldn’t even leave your daughter alive.”
[Brentius]: Killing the lot of them would be therapeutic, at this point.
[Brentius]: Take it as the sign of respect it is that I haven’t sent the letter off already, yeah?
Iaerian just rolled his damn eyes, “You want your money so bad? Fine. Meet me here tomorrow and you will have it - but I swear to it, if you have anything extra up your sleeve, I won’t hesitate to finish you where you stand.”
[Iaerian]: Are. We. Understood?
Brentius looks Iaerian over… then nods once. “We are.”
Iaerian also looks him over. Two can play at that game. “Great. Now, aren’t you late to your pillow fights or whatever nonsense you’re probably enjoying at their estate?"
Brentius rolls his eyes. "You think you’re exaggerating, but…” he shakes his head, as he turns.
Brentius steps off–then stops. “–Mm. Not the letter, per se. But I’ll give you a freebie. A token of good faith, yeah?”
Iaerian raises his eyebrow inquisitively at you.
[Brentius]: Your daughter’s dating a human.
[Brentius]: From -Westfall-.
Iaerian angrily dispersed into the shadows that finally engulfed his form entirely. The sheer energy of his anger left an impression behind. Perhaps an echo that might disturb those who slumber peacefully nearby.
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The letter was written out to one, Jeredris Starweaver and entrusted to Brent Sunborn for delivery. Given his boasting of contacts, Saedre Starweaver felt confidence in her reliance on such a generous offer being presented to her. Could this be the opportunity she needed to finally make that connection with her nephew?
@brent-sunborn for mentions!
Greetings Jeredris,
I have come to learn of your existence through my recent studies to the Starweaver family tree, finding you to share the very same blood that courses through my veins. I know you do not know me and we may fall on different sides of a very high wall I never much enjoyed picking a side to, but I very much would adore the opportunity to meet you. My brother’s son. If you would gift me such a pleasure.
My name is Saedre and I have survived many millennia within the crumbling walls that were once the majesty known as Eldre’Thalas. Like you, I find myself venturing out into the great wide world of the likes we have never seen before and have likely always been curious to. I know well of the Shal’dorei’s historic plight and of your people’s great strength. We are not so different, you and I. Truly, I would wish for nothing more than to know you. Family isn’t something I have had the luxury of holding onto for very long, as fate can sometimes be very cruel.
You can reach me at the address provided. I do hope you will consider my interest in pursuing some sort of relationship. My heart sings with joy to know that I have a nephew that still lives.
The letter weighed heavier than it should’ve in Brent’s pocket. Not a void pocket on his belt, this time-- a real pocket, close to his chest. He didn’t lie, exactly; he really did have contacts back in Silvermoon who, if he reached out to them, might help safely deliver the letter to its destination in Suramar. But that was only one option for it. The other... delivering it to a very different contact. A very different family member, who would determine which path Brent would take.
For Saedre, the words she wrote on the parchment carried hope with them. Excitement for the prospect of connecting with family she’d only come to learn about. For Brent, however, the letter was a bartering chip. A knife to be handed off - either handle or blade first.
*An encrypted message makes it ways to Brent through channels unknown...* [[ DELAY A STAR AND SEEK THE TRUTH ]]
“This is bullshit.” Brent thought to himself.
Already, this arrangement was proving more than he’d bargained for. So far, the Violet Bastion seemed to be a host of friendly people. Overbearingly so. It was a strange sensation, to actually miss interacting with other cultists, instead. They were generally private people themselves, and didn’t ask a thousand questions. Or try to hug each other.
He crushed the note, channeling enough void energy into it to pulverize it beyond recovery. The first expedition wasn’t for a week or so, giving Brent ample time to do what he could to delay a star. That wouldn’t be too hard. But to seek the truth... that would take quite a bit more effort.
The breath was knocked from Brent’s lungs as the appendage of darkness slammed him across his chest. He was flung roughly fifty yards back, before a crumbling stalagmite caught him. It was hard to say which hurt worse. Quickly as he could, he scrambled to his feet, one dagger drawn. The weapons had begun to feel heavy in his hands now. No longer did they feel like extensions of his body, but rather as cumbersome weights he’d attempt to heft to and fro. But they were all he had to defend himself with now. The Void monstrosity was unrelenting, chasing him through the Rift without mercy. With his free hand, flicked his wrist as if to hurl one of his shadow-born shuriken-- only to huff in frustration as nothing came forth. A whiff, the hand motion feeling limp and impotent now. He grunted a curse, before turning to run. His only real option, at this point.
Coming here was a bad idea. Brent had hoped returning to the Void would help him find his path again, but it only illustrated just how far he’d fallen. His mind couldn’t focus - not with so many voices ringing through his head. So many terrible images all rushing through his mind’s eye. It was crippling, in every sense of the word. Cripping, and disorienting. His only sense of direction was away from the behemoth that hunted him through the Rift, a coalescence of power he’d once wielded with such ease.
Then, he tripped; once so nimble and silent-but-surefooted, now he stumbled about and fell over like a drunkard. One hand caught him, the other failed. He rolled, face scraping against the nondescript dust of whatever chunk of Telogrus rock he’d been dropped onto. Grunting in both frustration and pain, he pushed himself up and kicked against the ground to start running again. The precious lead he’d had before was lost now. He could feel the very shadows of the monstrosity itself nipping at his heels.
What had happened? He’d never struggled so much with the Void before. He took to it well, as a matter of fact! The transition felt more empowering than confusing. Yet now, with the Old God’s demise, the Void was so unbridled. It felt very much the opposite of when the Sunwell was destroyed - yet every bit as terrible. Instead of a lack of energy emanating through him, it all felt like too much! He’d lost control-- and the Void sought to consume him for it!
Eventually gaining enough of a lead again, he dove behind a ledge and pressed his back up against it. He focused on the only thing he could control anymore - his breathing, labored and erratic, but still his own. His eyes darted about warily, watching for any movement in the darkness that surrounded him. The distant twilit starts in the Rift provided only so much backlighting. But enough to tell the ground from the sky… and bring attention to any movement ahead of him. The tense and harrowing aura of the monster that pursued him was dim now, at least. But present, as the void-born beast continued to search for the wayward rogue.
He fought to control his breathing, or at the very least silence it as not to betray his hiding place. Beads of cold sweat dripped down from his forehead. His heart raced, beating so hard he swore it would pound its way out of his chest. He swallowed back the bile that fought its way up his throat. He wanted to puke. He wanted to die. For a moment, he contemplated hurling himself off the side of the floating platform. But he knew well that wouldn’t be the end of this torment. Rather… the beginning.
He closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. Emotions were a beacon in this place, radiating out like a siren’s call. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to recognize it, and the training to bridle those emotions. He calmed quickly, his heart rate dropping and his worries dissipating enough to hide from the Void monster in yet another way. He could feel it's sickening aura departing, and waited until it left him fully before moving again. He exhaled a sigh, as he peeked over the edge.
“I can’t defeat this thing…” he thought to himself.
“Is that your goal, then? To defeat it?”
Brent spun around quickly, dagger’s edge faced out before him as he assumed a defensive stance. A voice? Who could sneak up on him? His eyes settled on the source of the interjection; another ren’dorei. A young woman. He kept his blade up, and narrowed his gaze.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “How did you--”
“--Read your thoughts?”
The woman’s lips curled to a smile as she snickered lightly. She wore an elegant, decorated dress. Violets and golds intertwined in a pattern reminiscent of a formal ball gown. Frilly lace decorated the cuffs at the ends of her long sleeves, as well as the hem of the dress itself. A light fur coat draped over her shoulders, with a simple golden chain loosely latching both sides before her. A pendant hung from the chain; ivory, if Brent had to guess, carved into a diamond shape. The bulk of her dark hair was tied back into a ponytail, yet curled locks of it were left unbound to frame her unmarred face. Her eyes were wide and bright, even amidst the dim and dismal backdrop of Telogrus. They spoke to her youthfulness, complimenting her melodic and cheerful voice. She was easily half a meter shorter than he was… but her presence commanded such attention as if she were two stories tall.
“Call me Vyllith. You’re Brentius Lor’aran, yes?” she asked… though clearly already knew.
“H-How did--” Brent nearly repeated himself, before grunting.
He lowered his blade, though kept it ready. It was proof enough she was telling the truth. At least… about her reading his thoughts; no one called him by his real name anymore. It was a show of force, so to speak - what could he hope to hide from her? Still alarmed… still on edge. He looked around, before glancing to Vyllith again.
“... What do you want?” he asked, tersely. “If you didn’t notice, I’m a little busy here.”
“Running from your power. Yes, I saw.” she snickered once more. “It seems you’ve taken on more than you could handle, hm?”
“I didn’t take this on intentionally. The thing just… attacked me, as soon as I got here.” Brent huffed.
Vyllith laughed her melodic laugh again as she began to pace around the rogue - indifferent to the apparent danger of the situation. She didn’t so much as ‘walk’, as much as her legs went through the motions. Her body seemed to simply float her intended direction. She left no footprints in the dirt… her steps made no sound. Brent’s hand tensed around the hilt of his dagger, eyes never leaving the woman. And in that moment, he started to fear her more than the beast that had pursued him.
“I don’t mean that creature, silly.” she brought the back of her gloved hand up to cover her mouth as she continued to snicker. “I mean all of this! The Void is potent! Chaotic! Dangerous. You’re out of your depth, Brentius.”
“Hmph! Stop calling me that!” Brent snapped. “What are you even saying? I’m the last of the Blackened Blades! I’ve wielded the Void for years before now!”
“Not by yourself.”
Vyllith snickered again, continuing to slowly saunter about in a nigh-taunting manner. Brent scoffed. He nearly opened his mouth to dispute it, but… honestly couldn’t. Perhaps that was it? His ties with the Old Gods had made his experience with the Void easier. Not so chaotic and overwhelming like it felt, now. But in their absence, without N’Zoth to filter and focus his power, it seemed like he could barely keep up with it!
“... Hmph.” Brent could only grunt in frustration, as he shook his head.
“Awww, don’t be upset!” Vyllith tilted her head to the side. “That’s why I’m here! I want to help you, Brentius.”
“Help me what?”
“Help you be what you were meant to be.”
Understandably, he was skeptical. Here more than most places, no one showed up offering to help without some ulterior motive. He had no idea who this foreign elf-- or entity, more like-- even was! Yet she materialized before him now, at his lowest and most vulnerable point… offering aid? No, this was very obviously a trick.
“Mm… and what’s the price of your help, Vyllith?” he asked, making no effort to conceal his skepticism. “You’ll want something in return, I expect?”
“Hee hee… Well…” she snickered, eerie laughter seeming to echo through the endless void. “Not right away.”
Confirming the suspicion didn’t help him as much as he thought it would. He’d just spent nearly a decade in the service of ominous entities, and he was in no hurry to get involved with another.
“--Calm your thoughts, I’m not like them.” Vyllith added, proving once more to have found purchase in his mind. “My wish is to see all ren’dorei reach their potential. To sift through the Void’s whispers and embrace the gift they’ve sought out for themselves. I want you to be free.”
“Until you--”
“--Please don’t interrupt, Brentius. I won’t be calling in any favors anytime soon. And even when I do… they’ll be to both our benefits.” she flared, the thrums of power emanating from her growing more and more apparent. “All things considered, I think the offer’s fair. Minimal intrusion for getting your life back on track? There are worse ways to go about it.”
She turned, looking out past Brent-- the Void Beast had returned, looming closer and closer to Brent’s little hiding place. She smirked, eyes settling on Brent again. Another playful chuckle escaped her. A warning and a taunt all in one.
“It’s up to you.”
Brent scoffed. His hands tensed around his daggers as he felt the chaotic aura of the beast grow stronger… closer… he narrowed his eyes, taking a defensive footing-- for all the good it would do. Sidling up against the outcropping, he readied himself for another fight. He hoped for an opening, something to give him a good strike before he set off running again. Would it even do anything, though? He wasn’t sure. He glanced to Vyllith again, who simply floated nearby as if to watch it all unfold.
His wind-up dwindled quickly after, as the futility of it set in. What choice did he have? She was right, he was way out of his depth, here. The ship that helped him cross through the Void had sunk, leaving him to either learn to drown…or learn to swim. He nodded to Vyllith, accepting her offer of aid. He left it non-verbal, seeing as it didn’t matter if he spoke it aloud or not. She’d know. It wasn’t much of a choice, but at least it was an easy one.
Just as he nodded, the Void Monstrosity whipped around the outcropping, roaring an ethereal roar as its nondescript eyes settled on Brent. But before it could reach out and strike at the rogue, Vyllith floated in between them. Without so much as a somatic expression, the beast simply - and literally - dispersed. It was silenced, then broke apart into millions upon millions of flakes and fragments, each sailing out into the darkness before being consumed by it. Brent found himself in awe, dumbfounded by how easy she had made it look to undo the fearsome beast! Her giggle resounded throughout the area once more as she turned to Brent, smiling.
“Don’t worry. That’s one of the things I’ll show you how to do.”
She floated in closer, extending her hand to Brent. Exhaling slowly, Brent sheathed his blades, and reached out to take the offered hand. He pushed the uncertainty from his mind, for the moment. It was a way out-- no, more than that, a way to gain that self-reliance he’d wanted since before N’Zoth’s demise. Brent was a survivor. An opportunist. Whatever cost came down the line, he’d find a way to either pay it or get out of it.
[B] Body Part (their favorite of theirs & their partner)
Brent is partial to a woman’s thighs. Outer and inner, he enjoys running his hands up and down a smooth pair of nice legs!
[M] Motivation (turn ons etc)
Valuing silence as he does, flirting by words alone doesn’t get too far with Brent. That being said, he’s a keen reader of body language. The right movements, such as innocuous touches and suggestive smirks woven into flirting resonate well with him.
[K] Kink
Brent’s a big fan of bondage. Tying up his partner gives him the freedom to explore them on an intimate level, and find out what works for them and what doesn’t during foreplay. He’s not as into being bound, himself... but that’s more of a high standard of trust than anything else.
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Turning his head to gaze down upon Brent once more, Iaerian perked a brow with his request, “What say you? Do you think you would be up to the task or do I need to find another?”
A sigh escaped the rogue, as he turned his gaze back out to the harbor. He’d done surveillance work like this in the past, easily enough. Embedding into an organization as an impostor came rather naturally to the ren’dorei. He was meticulous, procedural, and kept a low profile. Those traits had served him well in his past life, so it didn’t surprise him too much Iaerian would call on him for a similar task now. But to spy on his own daughter? That struck him as odd…
And Keila - a name Brent hadn’t thought of in a long, long time. Like Iaerian himself, Brent’s interaction with Keila were brief and shallow. But reputations and rumours spread throughout the Twilight community. He remembered hearing about her demise in Pandaria… but then again so many cultists died around that time. Part of the dangers of that life were being found out and executed. He took a moment of silence out of respect for Keila’s loss. Only six or so years too late.
“Tell me a bit more about this Violet Bastion, then.” Brent then pressed, eyes flickering back and forth from the stars in the sky to their rippling reflections on the ocean below them. “I’ve no issues spying on your daughter, but if it’s a long term position, I want to make sure it’s worth my time, yeah?”
“I suppose the institution was merely something along the lines of advanced instruction for the gifted once upon a time. It’s former figurehead was a well-known face among Stormwind’s magic district and often brushed elbows with some noteworthy expeditionary guilds eager to dig in the dirt with,” Iaerian replied in kind to the query, happy to share more information now that it looked like Brent was drawing more interest.
Stroking his beard, the highborne man’s eyes shifted from the void elf to glance into the direction of a guardsman patrolling the nearby road with a lantern in hand. Even though the woman didn’t seem to pay them any mind, Iaerian did not speak again until she was out of earshot. His least favorite thing about the city was the obvious lack of privacy. Eyes and ears had a tendency to be virtually everywhere.
“Under my daughter’s direction now, I see the Violet Bastion doing far more than sitting behind their books and actually getting their hands dirty. I suppose its previous figurehead wanted to waste time enjoying her spoils than actually doing something more useful really,” Iaerian spoke as if he knew every detail to this structure, yet he couldn’t have been further from the truth. The Violet Bastion already had a history of sinking their shovels into the dirt. “Saedre is clever. She will want to employ those eager to assist her with her researches and those she deems as allies. Collecting long lost treasures and studying them. Boasting knowledge expansion and all for those who seek it. Why, you would get to see the world at your leisure and polish your name brightly, I assume.”
“Tell me, how does this all sound to you so far?” He asked, returning his attention to Brent.
Brent was far away, for a moment; as Iaerian spoke of expeditions and digs, his mind wandered back to the old days. Sixteen hours under the blazing sun, digging through sand as fine and smooth as silk. The bustle of a team setting up rigging and wall forms. That thrill when a large piece comes into full, glorious view. Even the tedium of removing dirt from bones and small artifacts with what was basically a toothbrush! He missed it all more than he realized. His eyes brightened a bit, ears perking as the Highborne went on talking about this Violet Bastion. It sounded like a good opportunity to get back into the craft.
“So far? I’m interested.” Brent replied readily enough when the question was posed, showing he wasn’t entirely distracted by his reminiscing. “It sounds like something I’ve been wanting to get back into for a long time. But other priorities kept me busy.”
The ren’dorei slipped the envelope into one of his many hidden pockets, indicative he accepted the offer. Nonetheless, there was one more matter he needed to smooth out to do his job right.
“Of course, if I’m to keep her out of your business… I need to know what manner of business you’ll be conducting.” Brent turned to Iaerian, brow raised. “Should I assume the usual? Or is there something specific your daughter would likely hone in on?”
Shifting his stance, Iaerian turned towards Brent fully - a long white brow arched in momentary hesitation to answer right away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the question would come, but in how he decided to respond to it was another story. He had come up with many different ways to weave the who’s and the why’s, but never really settled on one that satisfied him when sharing with anyone else.
“There are secrets of the past that I believe she would wish to keep under wraps if she knew what was best for her,” Iaerian confirmed in all his charming smugness, his features neutral once more as he ran a finger over the sapphire marquise gem resting upon his staff. “So, the usual affairs? Indeed, but I have my hand in a bit of family business that I would rather she steer clear of for now. The two of us have equally sought descendants to our line, and I’d rather she be kept busy with other things so that I may locate some important information first.”
Waving his hand dismissively, he sighed a bit, “Keep tabs on her. Distract her from anything that has to do with the citizens of Suramar if you can. Whatever you need to do really. I, of course, will be in touch and should I need to intervene, then so be it. Nothing you need concern yourself with outside of the minor bits and pieces.”
“Oh,” he held up a finger gently and continued. “She is rather excitable when it comes to the research of our lineage. I would be keen on receiving details she might share should she confide in you.”
“Be as vague as you think you can afford, Iaerian.” Brent cautioned the Highborne. “The less I know, the less use I’ll be to you. If she stumbles on to something, and I don’t recognize it as a problem for you? Out of my hands.”
It must’ve sounded like he was trying to squeeze information out of Iaerian, but that wasn’t the case. Brent had simply been doing this manner of work for so long that he knew the pitfalls that usually led to complete undoing. He worked so well in protecting the Coterie’s best interests because he was so well informed and ingrained into the organization. And they endured several calamities that should’ve spelled the end for them.
He didn’t blame Iaerian for being cautious, keeping his cards close to his chest. But Brent knew doing so in this case would only do more harm for him than good. What use was a blind eye, after all?
“I’ll work with what you’ve told me for now. And if my efforts aren’t to your liking… consider helping me help you, yeah?” the ren’dorei shrugged. “Sound good?”
Giving Brent a slow once over, he considered the notion thoughtfully before he settled with a simple reply back, “Jeredris Starweaver. If you hear the name. See it anywhere. What have you. I should like to be notified urgently.” Glossing over any other details, Iaerian bowed his head towards the Ren’dorei fellow and flashed him a rather smug smile. “Should I feel the need to divulge more information, I will do so.”
“Oh, and if you decide to bring anyone along for the ride with you, do see to it that they are discreet. I’d rather not see any harm come to my daughter, so use your best judgement, hm?” A challenging brow was raised, his gaze falling upon him with a bit more of a sternness. “Otherwise, go forth and live your life in a new manner with this golden opportunity being presented to you. The world is your oyster now.”
“Such a pleasure to be doing business with you again,” He finished with a flourishing bow that seemed almost mocking in nature, but if anyone knew Iaerian - they knew he was quite over the top in all actuality. Turning as if to suggest he would be about his way, he would find himself swayed others if Brent had any other queries or comments.
Just a name? Really? Brent stifled a sigh. Just as well, it was something. Shadows knew he’d done far more with far less. He made a point to memorize the name, saving himself some pointless speculation as to who, exactly this Jeredris was. He’d find out sooner or later. Or, if he got lucky, not at all.
Instead, he responded with a subtle nod after the Highborne’s theatrical bow. The exchange both was and wasn’t what he’d expected; he figured Iaerian had some kind of job in store for him. His first thoughts were perhaps an assassination? Maybe a theft of some kind. He didn’t expect a surveillance gig, nor the rather handsome offer that came along with it. The rogue was most assuredly an opportunist... but wasn’t used to opportunities literally dropping into his hands like this.
Still, he wasn’t one to look a gift hawkstrider in the beak. He stuffed the envelope down deeper into his pocket as he, too, turned to depart.
Turning his head to gaze down upon Brent once more, Iaerian perked a brow with his request, “What say you? Do you think you would be up to the task or do I need to find another?”
A sigh escaped the rogue, as he turned his gaze back out to the harbor. He’d done surveillance work like this in the past, easily enough. Embedding into an organization as an impostor came rather naturally to the ren’dorei. He was meticulous, procedural, and kept a low profile. Those traits had served him well in his past life, so it didn’t surprise him too much Iaerian would call on him for a similar task now. But to spy on his own daughter? That struck him as odd…
And Keila - a name Brent hadn’t thought of in a long, long time. Like Iaerian himself, Brent’s interaction with Keila were brief and shallow. But reputations and rumours spread throughout the Twilight community. He remembered hearing about her demise in Pandaria… but then again so many cultists died around that time. Part of the dangers of that life were being found out and executed. He took a moment of silence out of respect for Keila’s loss. Only six or so years too late.
“Tell me a bit more about this Violet Bastion, then.” Brent then pressed, eyes flickering back and forth from the stars in the sky to their rippling reflections on the ocean below them. “I’ve no issues spying on your daughter, but if it’s a long term position, I want to make sure it’s worth my time, yeah?”
“I suppose the institution was merely something along the lines of advanced instruction for the gifted once upon a time. It’s former figurehead was a well-known face among Stormwind’s magic district and often brushed elbows with some noteworthy expeditionary guilds eager to dig in the dirt with,” Iaerian replied in kind to the query, happy to share more information now that it looked like Brent was drawing more interest.
Stroking his beard, the highborne man’s eyes shifted from the void elf to glance into the direction of a guardsman patrolling the nearby road with a lantern in hand. Even though the woman didn’t seem to pay them any mind, Iaerian did not speak again until she was out of earshot. His least favorite thing about the city was the obvious lack of privacy. Eyes and ears had a tendency to be virtually everywhere.
“Under my daughter’s direction now, I see the Violet Bastion doing far more than sitting behind their books and actually getting their hands dirty. I suppose its previous figurehead wanted to waste time enjoying her spoils than actually doing something more useful really,” Iaerian spoke as if he knew every detail to this structure, yet he couldn’t have been further from the truth. The Violet Bastion already had a history of sinking their shovels into the dirt. “Saedre is clever. She will want to employ those eager to assist her with her researches and those she deems as allies. Collecting long lost treasures and studying them. Boasting knowledge expansion and all for those who seek it. Why, you would get to see the world at your leisure and polish your name brightly, I assume.”
“Tell me, how does this all sound to you so far?” He asked, returning his attention to Brent.
Brent was far away, for a moment; as Iaerian spoke of expeditions and digs, his mind wandered back to the old days. Sixteen hours under the blazing sun, digging through sand as fine and smooth as silk. The bustle of a team setting up rigging and wall forms. That thrill when a large piece comes into full, glorious view. Even the tedium of removing dirt from bones and small artifacts with what was basically a toothbrush! He missed it all more than he realized. His eyes brightened a bit, ears perking as the Highborne went on talking about this Violet Bastion. It sounded like a good opportunity to get back into the craft.
“So far? I’m interested.” Brent replied readily enough when the question was posed, showing he wasn’t entirely distracted by his reminiscing. “It sounds like something I’ve been wanting to get back into for a long time. But other priorities kept me busy.”
The ren’dorei slipped the envelope into one of his many hidden pockets, indicative he accepted the offer. Nonetheless, there was one more matter he needed to smooth out to do his job right.
“Of course, if I’m to keep her out of your business… I need to know what manner of business you’ll be conducting.” Brent turned to Iaerian, brow raised. “Should I assume the usual? Or is there something specific your daughter would likely hone in on?”
Shifting his stance, Iaerian turned towards Brent fully - a long white brow arched in momentary hesitation to answer right away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the question would come, but in how he decided to respond to it was another story. He had come up with many different ways to weave the who’s and the why’s, but never really settled on one that satisfied him when sharing with anyone else.
“There are secrets of the past that I believe she would wish to keep under wraps if she knew what was best for her,” Iaerian confirmed in all his charming smugness, his features neutral once more as he ran a finger over the sapphire marquise gem resting upon his staff. “So, the usual affairs? Indeed, but I have my hand in a bit of family business that I would rather she steer clear of for now. The two of us have equally sought descendants to our line, and I’d rather she be kept busy with other things so that I may locate some important information first.”
Waving his hand dismissively, he sighed a bit, “Keep tabs on her. Distract her from anything that has to do with the citizens of Suramar if you can. Whatever you need to do really. I, of course, will be in touch and should I need to intervene, then so be it. Nothing you need concern yourself with outside of the minor bits and pieces.”
“Oh,” he held up a finger gently and continued. “She is rather excitable when it comes to the research of our lineage. I would be keen on receiving details she might share should she confide in you.”
“Be as vague as you think you can afford, Iaerian.” Brent cautioned the Highborne. “The less I know, the less use I’ll be to you. If she stumbles on to something, and I don’t recognize it as a problem for you? Out of my hands.”
It must’ve sounded like he was trying to squeeze information out of Iaerian, but that wasn’t the case. Brent had simply been doing this manner of work for so long that he knew the pitfalls that usually led to complete undoing. He worked so well in protecting the Coterie’s best interests because he was so well informed and ingrained into the organization. And they endured several calamities that should’ve spelled the end for them.
He didn’t blame Iaerian for being cautious, keeping his cards close to his chest. But Brent knew doing so in this case would only do more harm for him than good. What use was a blind eye, after all?
“I’ll work with what you’ve told me for now. And if my efforts aren’t to your liking... consider helping me help you, yeah?” the ren’dorei shrugged. “Sound good?”
