A new mission ~ Rylas ~ Samheen 18th

[Ashari]

Early Morning Tide

Knock knock knock! The quick tappings against Rylas's door awoke him again. He had been waiting for a letter from Tedrin, but it had been two days, and none had arrived. Finally, early on the 18th he would recieve the letter as it slipped under the door from an unnamed, faceless delivery person. Once more, closed with a seal of the moon pressed into wax drippings, was a simple note.

Rylas,

Task: In the arena there are letters I need. Go there to the office of the owner. Top left hand drawer of desk has a fake drawer set inside, perhaps locked, retrieve the letters and return to the Golden Ram before trade-tide.

~Tedrin

Downstairs there was the sound of movements of chairs as they were pulled down from the tables they had been set upon the night before so the cleaning boy could mop up the refuse from the evening's boisterous clientel. Yabal was calling out orders and advising his waiters what the meals of the day would be. Since most no one could read he didn't bother writing them up on a board.

However, in Rylas's room there was a barrier between the sound and he, he heard only the murmerings of these activities. The first shafts of light penetrated through the thick windows and onto his bed. Uphuron's mighty ball of light had risen to a height where the curved horizon line could not hinder any of it's magnificent golden rays.

[Guest]

Arena?, he questioned as he placed this new note with the previous one inside the book of drawings. Yabal will know the location, he figured, the noises of downstairs registering with him.

He couldn't decide if he was glad to have been tasked, but he did taste the anticipation. Either way, he immediately dressed in his common clothes and gathered what he would need, as he didn't expect Tedrin meant tradetide tomorrow.

His stilleto was at the top of the list, but he would leave the bec de corbin behind. If he was careful, he would hopefully not have to draw a weapon at all. Besides that, visible weapons made people nervous.

'...fake drawer set inside, perhaps locked...' he recalled, and he slung on his small, leather satchel containing his lockpicks and three small knives. He figured that the chain of locks Tedrin had given him had been by design.

Slipping on his cloak, he headed down to the common room to inquire about directions. It hadn't yet occured to him to really wonder what was important about letters. Blackmail, perhaps, for or against him, or it could've been simple information gathering. The important thing was that someone would likely be coming to the Golden Ram to retrieve them, and far be it from Rylas to disappoint.

[Ashari]

"G'mornin' laddy." The short dwarf was already sitting at a stool, though it didn't seem as if any other patrons had yet been allowed into the Golden Ram. Yabal stood behind the counter looked up as Jack announced Rylas's arrival.

"You had a visitor, all well?" Yabal asked as he wiped down the counter prepping for the morning crowd coming in before they had to open their market stalls.

Men in vests moved about the common room as they discussed who would get what tables. The highest paying customers always requested a table upfront and away from the kitchen. Others who were just stepping in for a mead would sit at the counter and Yabal would recieve their money directly.

None of the dancing girls had yet arrived. They usually didn't come in until the evening to perform for the classy merchants. All in all it was a rather desolate place when there were no customers around.

"Can I offer you anything to eat?" The barkeep added. "We have some fresh bread and dried fruits and cheeses if you are interested, comes with the room." His dark eyes glanced over to him, the tavern owner was most definately surveying him. "Oh, and your friend, he payed for your room, for the next week."

[Guest]

"Morning," he greeted cooly. He was never warm, but he wasn't as short as he had been the night he arrived, either. Over the previous two days he had become accustomed if not acquainted, and Yabal seemed to have a working understanding at least with Tedrin. For Rylas, this put he and the others somewhere between stranger and trust. "I will have to take you up on that sometime later, there is no time right now. I have something to attend to."

He raised is eyebrows. "A week, hm?" he repeated. "Good to know." Exactly how much his stay was going to set him back had crossed his mind more than once during his stay. Now he knew. But, he doubted he'd be finished by a week. Perhaps he wants to see how I perform before he parts with further coin.

He glanced about the place nonchalantly, noting that the tavern seemed like a different place in the light of morning. Mostly he thought it looked better at night, though there was something to be said for the asylum of an emptied room.

When filled closer to capacity, there was much for him to keep track of; who was starting trouble, who was finishing it, or who might be looking for it with him. He mostly looked like he was trying to relax, but rarely was that the truth, as he sometimes made an exercise out of noting reactions, mannerisms, whether someone turned their palms as their arms swung when they walked, or if their arms swung at all.

Snippets of scenes he had observed the night before last that had been particularly interesting replayed themselves in his mind. "I need to know about 'arena,'" he said, his head still turned away. As the remembered view concluded, he turned and glanced between Jack and Yabal expectantly.

[Ashari]

OOC: So sorry for the delay, busy weekend.

IC:

"Hishran. Get this boy a sandwhich. Egg, bacon and whatever solid bread you've got in there." Yabal hollared into the kitchen and then turned his attention back to Rylas. "The Arena? Well, it's hard to miss. I suppose as soon as you step out the door you should see it above all the other buildings," he said.

Jack nodded. "No fights tah day though, lad, not sure what you'da be able tah do." His burly and scarred hand was wrapped around the handle of a mead glass, foam rising to the top and almost spilling over the edge. It must've been handed to him right before Rylas appeared, he hadn't even yet had a sip of it.

Yabal looked over to Jack and then back to the young man. "You'd do best to stay on the main roads. It's faster to cut through the Slave Quarter, but then one has to worry of incurring their disfavor." The innkeeper was an intelligent man, he knew his town well. "They don't take kindly to strangers, if you catch my drift."

"If ya want to know about the arena itself though, I'm not particularly sure on the specifics right now. It just came under new management, new ownership, really. The previous owner, a short and shifty fellow, fled the island. The new owner, a man by the name of Ramsel-Ahn, seems to be attempting to use the large building as a center for his operation. Some kind of merchant's agreement. He's yet to wander to my door trying to get me to sign up." Yabal shook his head. "I've got my own protection, and he should be worrying if he thinks that Tedrin'll allow someone to walk across his turf like that." There was a ding, like the sound of bell from the kitchen.

"Just wait a flicker, I'll go get your food." He turned away and disappeared through a door into the back kitchen then appeared with a wrapped package in hand. "Here ya go. You look like you haven't eat in an age." It was a warm bundle of folded parchment to keep it together incase the boy didn't eat it immediately.

The rumbling and gurgling of his stomach was enough to make Yabal realize the sandwhich wouldn't last long. "Good enough, atleast to last you the morning."

Jack then took a deep swill of his mead, the foam clung to his mustache until his worn sleeve was raised and wiped away the white bubbles. "See ya around tha town, lad."

[Guest]

Rylas was surprised at the benevolence of Yabal. He reflexively started to protest the sandwich, but he realized he had no real reason to. Especially, that is, if he was beginning to look underfed even underneath his cloak. Such a thing would not instill confidence in those he was currently taking direction from.

Once he had the food in his hand, this reasoning faded to the background, and the hunger he had largely been ignoring flared up. He dropped his hand to his side, not wanting to appear eager. But, he also decided that his favorite seat in the Golden Ram's tavern would be filled that night as he treated himself to as hearty a meal as he had room for, now that the fee for his quarters was covered for the week.

He took the warning about the Slave Quarter to heart. What he didn't hear Yabal say was that Rylas, with his light, scorched skin and relatively light-colored eyes, was probably among the top contenders for who looked most like a stranger in all Amun Rah. The only thing for it was to hide underneath a cloak, which didn't exactly serve to make one inconspicuous.

His ears perked at the mention of the change in management. New pieces began to fall together, not the least of which was part of the purpose behind his task. It was uncomforting to think of strolling into the nest of a rival faction and pilfering letters from the head man's desk, and the thought occured to Rylas to go and pull on his pourpoint armor. But, he didn't want to imagine what the heat would be like with an additional layer of hide, and assured himself that if the need arose for such equipment, he would likely have failed by that point anyway, and retreat would be called for.

"If there are no events today," he considered aloud, "then what would be taking place?" He hoped to formulate a reason for being there. The going would be much easier if the subterfuge could begin after he was already inside...

[Ashari]

Jack put down his mead and then hopped down from his stool. "I'm off Yab, I'll be seein ya around nah doubt lateron tah day." He nodded to the barkeep and then to Rylas. "Good luck with tha Arena." Picking up a pack and a commanding axe from the floor he walked out the door.

"G'bye Jack, I'd like you back as soon as possible with word. Thank you." Yabal said as the door swung closed. He then turned his attention to the young man. "I suppose the only other reason to be at the Arena not on a fight day would be to place a bet on a fighter, or..." He paused. "Well, to commit to fighting in a tournament yourself." Yabal looked at Rylas incredulously. "Not that you appear the type to do such, but I've seen smaller guys fight."

"That's the best I can offer ya for now kid." Yabal said, though his alert eyes made it appear he might actually know more on the subject, but was holding back. Perhaps he didn't trust Rylas yet.

[Guest]

Rylas couldn't help but puff up at Yabal's comment, and he was becoming more self conscious about his undernourished appearance with each blow to his ego. Better make it a doubly large feast tonight, he thought ruefully.

Ultimately the point was moot, however. If he had been in the most elite condition of his life, he wouldn't have fought in any tournament, if only because the idea of such an exhibition simply for the entertainment of others was distasteful to him. Besides that, it wouldn't serve his goals very well to be under the public eye as such.

A growled "right" was the whole of his response before he went on his way. As soon as the Golden Ram disappeared from sight, he hastily but begrudgingly disposed of the sandwich the best way he knew how, then stuffed the paper it had been wrapped in into his money pouch, for much the same reasons he had saved the notes from Tedrin.

He didn't blame Yabal for witholding information. It would have seemed more peculiar if he had seemed to disclose all. Rylas had all he would need to begin his task.

As he made for the arena, he wondered what the minimum bet on a fighter was.

[Ashari]

Outside the arid heat was beginning to rise. Not many people were in the streets, and of them most were setting up their market stalls. Any other meandering souls were loitering with no better place to go. Several stole side-long glances at Rylas as he passed by. His movements through the streets were carefully watched, though he would barely feel the many eyes, some indoors, that kept tabs on him.

As Yabal had said, the arena was hard to miss. The looming building was massive in not only height, but also width. A circular building made of stone and wood, it housed fighters of all different styles and sizes, but all of the highest quality. On game days almost everything in the city shut down as everyone went to see the fight. It was not only an oppertunity for watching the spectacles, but also to see the important people of the city, Rafao Ionis himself was known for actually coming to watch, his box seat frequently filled with his closest advisors, the priests/body guards who were always by his side.

Today, however, the arena was desolate, and even as Rylas made his way toward the impressive building there was an air of emptiness. A huge entrance, meant for the common men to walk through, lead into the stands where thousands could be seated. Any other way into the large building wasn't nearly as easy to spot, and generally hidden and worked into the woodwork to make it less obvious. If Rylas wanted to sneak in he would have to search around the parimeter of the structure. Alternatively, he could try the front door.

[Guest]

Rylas slowed his pace as he approached, considering his options. As he saw it, there were two things working against him. One, since the place was so empty, it would be easier to notice someone straying off the marked path. Two, he had no idea what the layout of the building was.

Both of those things led him to believe the best approach was the front door. A back entrance could find him on the opposite side from where he needed to be, not to mention if caught it would be even harder to explain on a day like today why he was slinking about.

Thus, he entered through the front, making no attempt to either be noticed or overlooked. He had already decided to place a small bet on a seemingly obscure competitor, since someone who simply looked around and left or who happened to win was more likely to be remembered later, he figured.

[Ashari]

As he entered the large archway he found himself in a desolate hall leading toward the seating for the lower classes. If he continued this way he would end up in the thousands of seats. Off of the main hall were a few doors. Some lead into stalls where men would sit on fight days to take the money of those entering. Others lead into bars where people could pick up food and drink, though they often brought their own. One of the doors, which was closed, didn't seem to lead into anywhere except further into the building.

A booth near the end of the hall had the word "Bets" scrawled over it in fanciful handwriting first in common and then in smaller writing in several other languages which merely looked like gibberish to Rylas's untrained eye. The booth was empty, behind it written in chalk were the names of fighters with the odds of their winning to the right of their title. Yub the Barbarian followed by Sneaky Sinabu. All their names were prefixed or tailed with some kind of description to disclose what kind of fighter they would be.

[Guest]

The immediate area appeared empty, and Rylas felt that he'd prefer it otherwise. There was something unsettling about the lack of people. If they weren't in that area, where were they?

And just how was he going to find the manager's office?

Furrowing his brow, he moved up to the list of fighters, giving it a once over. Hunched in front of the booth, he had a fine opportunity to more thoroughly observe the surroundings.

Out of the corners of his eyes - or as much so as his hood would allow - he looked around again for people, or any other sorts of markers that could lead him in the right direction.

The most likely candidate was the door whose destination wasn't immediately clear. The prospect of stomping through with no idea who or what lay beyond made him uneasy, but he had already begun formulating reasoning to shower on anyone he might bump into if and when he decided to explore there.

It took some effort for him to remain calm. The whole city in general had a way of making him uneasy. Initially, he had attributed it to the stress of the previous events, but he had felt it even during his days of leisure. It seemed the icewater he endeavored to replace his blood with melted in the heat. Now, here he was attempting espionage against one of the two main underground forces in the city, if word of mouth could be believed.

All the more important that I succeed, then. He dug down for his jaded logic and the fatalist sort of tranquility it provided.

[Ashari]

No matter how much he scrutinized the landscape surrounding him there was no one around. The place was a desolate waste, much the way outsiders thought the whole island was. A breeze kicked through the open arena and stirred up the dust in a small tornado that lazily spun where fighters' blood stained the sands. As it died down a voice appeared out of nowhere.

"Excuse me, can I help you sir?" The owner of the voice, should Rylas turn to see, would look more of a foreigner than even he. Bright red hair, skin covered in freckles, with a fair complexion beyond belief, stood a man in a green tunic. His eyes were bright green, and magnified by spectacles he removed as he scrutinized the cloak wearing fellow before him. No doubt the glasses were for reading alone, in one of his hands he held a stack of parchment with numbers on it.

"There are no fights today, why don't you get along then. Unless you want to fight?" His eye brows tucked together as if he didn't think that would be the case.

[Guest]

"...why don't you get along then." Belittling was one thing that bothered Rylas. Especially when it was perpetrated by a lackey who likely had as much awareness of things around him as livestock. Surely there was the chance that this fellow was the very manager whose office he would be raiding, but Rylas's eye brows tucked together as if he didn't think that would be the case.

The man's complexion was a surprise. In discomfort induced arrogance, he had figured that non-natives - short of those who had found fortune - were leaving the island as quickly as they arrived.

"Actually," he began, raising out of the airy chest voice that was his comfort zone. "I am interested in wagering, I believe. And, as business will keep me occupied on the next day of contests, I thought I might look into it today."

He couldn't decide how he felt about the man's arrival. On the one hand, there was certainly things to be learned, but on the other he would require Rylas's attention, as he couldn't proceed until this attendant was at least satisfied.

He stole a glance at the man's papers which he made little effort to conceal. "However, now that you mention it, suppose I did know of a...pet to be entered in the show. How would one go about it?"

[Ashari]

"A wager! Oh, excellent." He straightened up a bit and looked at Rylas in a different light. A man with money to spend is one to be respected, especially if he wasn't even concerned with seeing the fight, only in reaping the benefits.

"A pet eh? Well, if that were the case then I am the man to be speaking with. Please, step into my office." With a quick pace he turned on his heel and walked into the doorway which lead into the tunnels of the Arena. "It's amazing this place, like a maze. I've luckily memorized the layout well enough to get to my own office, that of the owner and then down to the fighters." He turned and grinned. "I think not even the palace of the Desert King has as many secret passages." He turned back around and kept walking. Their trip took them through several turns until they arrived in a neat little office with a board with writing on it similar to the one outside, including the odds on fighters though written in a different hand with more exact squared letters.

"Sit, please." He offered the upholstered chair infront of the desk and took the one behind it. "So, a betting man, eh? Are you feeling lucky? Yub the Barbarian has seen some excellent fights lately." He nodded and placed the papers he had in his hand atop a neat pile. "Though if you are looking for the underdog - Dort's Dodger is about as much of an unknown as any we've had. New fighter, show's promise but has yet to win a fight." He spoke like a salesman, offering up the choices to the buyer. He was saving the conversation of what else Rylas had to offer until after.

[Guest]

Rylas was reminded that monies were a fine lubricant. He was also reminded why he must find more, especially since he didn't have coin of the kind that this fellow was likely beginning to expect. But, he was also reminded of something he used to overhear Jeric say. The precise wording escaped him, but he knew it went something like, "amazing what you can get away with if you just act like you know what you're doing."

This mid-level manager would never know - or at least Rylas hoped he would never know - how ironic his words were. Rylas observed the journey to this office with much anxiety. Though he hadn't expected a man to be standing by the front door holding out the prize, he sarcastically wondered if some higher power didn't have it in for him. "Are you feeling lucky?" the man asked as Rylas eased in to the chair offered him, and the irony continued.

"I would have to make a change were I the proprietor. Scouring a labrynth every day for my office would be rather cumbersome, though I expect there are perks as well. A location where he can view the matches right from his desk, say," he commented, lightly stressing his remarks.

"This dodger has yet to win?" Rylas said quizzically, the abnormal, clear tone pervading. "When I first heard of this place, I must admit I didn't imagine failed competitors...got many more tries following a defeat." He checked the red-head's eyes to make sure he had caught the thinly-veiled meaning. "How..." He paused again, making no secret his deliberation over word choice. "How satisfying are the contests when the consequences of failure are limited to pride and purse?"

[Ashari]

"Oh, well Ramsel-Ahn's office is just a few doors down from here." The manager stated. "So I guess it isn't that bad. The previous owner liked the seclusion. I've a feeling Mister Ahn would feel more comfortable in something more like you described - front and center. He's just settling in still." His was a quick talker, but it didn't seem he realized how much information spilled from his lips in idle conversations.

The young fair skinned man couldn't help but laugh at Rylas's comment about losers. "Well, it depends on what kind of fight we are running. He is a sponsored fighter, so I don't forsee him coming to a quick end. However, if he continues at this rate he may lose his sponsor - and well - then he might as well be left in a pit of raptors. Which, by the way, we do have. There will be some animal fights in the coming weeks. The feisty beasts don't live long outside of their desert domain, but we've got an agreement with some half-giants."

He looked at Rylas. "You don't seem the type interested in that sort of thing. You want to see the good fight. If that's your deal then the one on one between Yub and Salimna is going to be a great one." There was a brief pause. "It's a fight to the death." He punctuated with another pause before continuing. "The winner gains freedom if he choses, or can stay and fight for more weeks to recieve adoration from his fans. Most leave though. Many fighters are picked up by merchants in the area to work as body guards." He shrugged. "Business is business and there is no shortage of fighters for the arena."

"But, really, let's talk about money. What kind of investment are you putting down?" His bright eyes sparkled with green greed.

[Guest]

In just a moment, Rylas's fortune was reversed. He had a name, a location, and a hint at the head's personality. The sharing demeanor of the attendant made Rylas wonder whether he had anything to do with the even seedier portions of this Ramsel-Ahn's business.

He listened with a stoic expression as the contests were detailed to him, and the arena began to sound more and more like the place he had imagined. He also realized that Yabal had been correct in assuming Rylas was not the arena competitor type, though likely not for the reasons he had thought.

Easing back in his seat, Rylas leisurely surveyed the office. "Mm, I have never lept headlong into anything. Any initial investment, as you say, would be small." Anticipating disappointment of sorts, he sat up once again. "After all, not only must confidence be built in the competitor, but also in the system itself. This is my first excursion here, after all."

Rylas had already committed himself to parting with more of his dwindling coin. To leave without leaving something would not be wise at this point. But, it was of course to his advantage to prepare the man for a modest wager. It was also to Rylas's advantage to get his mind off of the here and now, and focused comfortably on another time.

"Tell me more about this sponsorship. Who and what are involved in it, and what might be the benefits?"

[Ashari]

The redhead nodded at Rylas's hesitation. He had seen this before. Either he's flat out lying or he's a smart businessman. It was difficult to distinguish between the two at this early in the game. "Of course. We don't want to jump into anything. The Arena enjoys lifetime relationships with those who enter her doors. I'm here to facilitate such transactions, so you tell me what you are looking for and I will do my best to help."

"Ah, sponsorship. Well, that is usually reserved for our more prominent investors since it has a heavy price tag. They would sponsor a fighter and are given the oppertunity to help them, through training as well as giving them more food, not that we don't provide for our fighters, but certain things make one more strong." He coughed. "Aside from that, they might give them better weapons than we offer as well as specific garb to denote them as belonging to them." The man thought a moment. "Let's see, a person doing a sponsorship not only gains first dibs on buying an indentured fighter but also can recieve monies because of the fame attached to said fighter as well as a percentage of the bets place on that fighter would be gleaned by the sponsor. Percentage is, of course, negotiable." He grinned. "Any other questions?"

[Guest]

Rylas nodded to himself as the conversation continued, but in his mind things were not so placid. He knew the conversation was finished. It had to be. By his estimate, one more round of picking this man's brain would expire the welcome. Yet a way of busying him long enough for a chance at the manager's office had yet to come to him.

At least I have a rough approximation of the location, he thought, and he reminded himself that patience was key, if only because anxiousness could betray him if this fellow was knowledgable in spotting signs and tells.

"No, you have explained how things work here quite thoroughly. I am sure your employer would be pleased." Rylas scratched his chin as he mused - a character choice more than a habit of his own. "I suppose the only other information I would need to know is the standard rate of wagers, and a recommendation of a fighter who is...not yet sponsored." He met eyes with the red-headed clerk. "What you have told me intruiges me. So, if all goes smoothly, and this initial competitor does well by my coin, perhaps he shall find himself a patron."

Mostly, he wasn't serious. It would be a long time before he had money enough to actually consider such an indulgent endeavor. But, that wasn't to say that the idea didn't somewhat appeal to him. For now, however, it was more about leaving the gent pleased overall with the encounter, that he might think and forget, and Rylas might get on with the true business.

[Ashari]

"One hundred banner or so is a private bet." The book keeper said and looked down at his parchment scrolls of charts. "Anything less than that is usually done day-of fight."

"Fighter's who aren't sponsored yet..." He pondered and shuffled through the parchement. "We've got a guy right about center as far as odds go. Supposedly was a paladin that trained on Oracle's Isle. He's got an interesting history in the fights. Always wins the battles to the death no problem, but it's almost as if he's throwing the other fights. Maybe he's waiting for a sponsor so he can give a really good return on their money by winning each fight." Pelpin shrugged.

"There's a dark elf slave, Yirik, he's pretty solid. Rather sneaky fighter, will run around luring the other fighter and tiring them out and attack when least expected. The people don't like him as much. They prefer a real fight."

"Most everyone else is accounted for or isn't worthy of sponsorship yet, and probably won't live through the next round of fights anyway. Especially against the animals. So what do you say?"

[Guest]

Rylas's stomach relaxed a whit. A hundred banners, provided he was doing the math correctly in his head, wasn't so much that it'd break him. It was far less than he had figured it would be. Now, however, he realized that it wasn't only the priviledged who enjoyed gambling.

"Well," he breathed. "The crowd does not decide the victor in the end. A hundred banners it is for Yirik to win." He fished out two Coronets and plinked them onto the redhead's desk. The clerk didn't seem to favor the dark adhiel, but Rylas thought he knew a thing or two about their tenacity. "I hope changing those will not be a problem." He also couldn't help but hope that it couldn't be done in the office.

When he first got the idea, the bet itself was not important to him. However, though he knew it was silly, and potentially dangerous, he couldn't let it slide. His present conversation and the ideas presented in it left him with the slightest feeling of influence. "As I said, I will likely be prevented from attending the contest. How shall I go about learning the results?"

[Ashari]

"For Yirik, alright." He smiled and nodded, glad that he had made a pitch that brought in some more money to the Arena. The clerk picked up his quill and dipped it in a well of ink to jot down the bet, then took the money and reached into a lower drawer to take out a box, which he unlocked and retrieved the change from.

Pulling out a piece of parchment, which had a stamped seal upon it, the redhead signed it and handed it to Rylas. "Here is the ticket of your bet. I've put the amount on it, as well as the fighter you've chosen. If it is satisfactory, please sign here." He pushed over a long piece of parchment that held line after line of signatures. Next to the open space where he was to sign was the name Yirik and the amount of one hundred banner.

"If you are worried about how you will know then I can definately tell your foreign status, and how new you must be to this island. Word on the street will be overwhelming, as it always is. If the marketplace word of mouth isn't sufficient then come to my office, you will recieve your reward if you are meriting one." He nodded to Rylas. "And if there is nothing else I assume you can show yourself out?" His bright eyes glanced up from the paper work, obviously now that Rylas had handed over his money he was quite done with him.

[Guest]

Were Rylas the sort to offer up thanks to obscure dieties, the nature of the redheaded man would be high on the list about now. A hundred banners was a nominal fee to be released from his wardship, and Rylas took care to temper his anxiousness.

Skimming over the parchment brimming with signatures, he experience palpable distaste at committing his given name to writing here. A survey of the last few days occured in his mind at the speed of thought, and he inked D. Ruhmond into the space provided him. He instantly wished he had been more creative, but that hadn't been the point. It is, at least, appropriate...

"Of course," he confirmed, standing and nodding his head. "Until next time, have a...productive day." Depositing the remains of his coronets in his currency pouch along with the bet ticket, a few markedly calm steps carried him to and through the office door. Meaning to quietly close the door behind him, the feeling was quite like being let off a proverbial hook, and a telltale click from the mechanisms that made it a door rather than a suggestion would sweep away all concern for the preceding transaction.

"Ramsel-Ahn's office is just a few doors down from here." It was never a good practice to go blundering blindly through doors, so Rylas half-expected, half-hoped that they would have distinguishing markings. To literally be led so near his prize to be met with such a maddening obstacle...Rylas didn't want to consider it.

[Ashari]

Pelpin looked down at the parchement after Rylas scrawled down the name. "Alright, have an excellent day, Mr Ruhmond." He looked up and smiled before turning to his paperwork, barely noticing the click as the latch of the door closed. Most of the rooms in the hall had no doors, and merely lead into rooms with boxes. However, on the left hand side there was finally a door, and it was closed.

Inside there were no sounds of movement, really, the entire Arena seemed very quiet. Further down the hall there was a slight shuffling, as if someone were vainly attempting to sweep out the sand that settled into the corners of the large building.